


Pacific Rim Quick Fics

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Cussing, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Smut, Snark, bit angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 37,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've been on a weird "short fic" kick on tumblr lately, probably because I'm in a play and don't have time for the longer fics I was working on before. These are usually written for someone who's having a crummy day or whatever, so I'll add them in the "this fic is for" box if I can find their names. I imagine there will be more in time, and I'll try to title them so you'll know who's in which ficlet, in case one isn't your OTP.</p><p>[Updated 3-8-18 to add 2 chapters]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's That Time Again - Chuck and Raleigh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Synekdokee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/gifts), [davecabbage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/davecabbage/gifts), [StrikersInDanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikersInDanger/gifts), [estei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estei/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for [synekdokee](http://synekdokee.tumblr.com/). She's a love. That's reason enough.

“You gonna eat that, Ray?”

Raleigh sighed. That Ray thing was never going away. Apparently, neither was Chuck. Surviving Pitfall had left the brat feeling invincible, and if the little shit broke one more bo over Raleigh’s shoulder during a “friendly” spar....

“Oi, Ray.”

“No.”

“No what?”

He sighed. “No, I’m not gonna eat that.”

Grey eyes narrowed. “You didn’t eat lunch, either. Or breakfast. You pregnant or something, mate?”

Despite himself, he snorted and shot his former nemesis a wry look. “You are such an asshole.”

“So I’ve been told.” Chuck smirked, showing off that canyon of a dimple. “But seriously, what gives?”

Sighing, he returned his attention to the food he’d been poking at. “Nothing.” And then, without consulting with his brain, his mouth kept running. “Tomorrow’s March 1.”

The brat raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I mean… that’s how the calendar works, mate. First it’s February. Then it’s March.”

His jaw clenched. Chuck wasn’t intentionally being an asshole, and unless Raleigh actually wanted to start a fight, he’d better keep that in mind.

“Chuck....” He closed his eyes and put down his fork. “It’s not leap year.”

Slower this time, the brat repeated himself. “Yyyyyeah? So it’s March instead of–” Silence. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry.”

There was no February 29th tomorrow. He’d only really been able to mourn Yancy’s death once since it happened, but… every year....

“I… Ray… Raleigh, I mean....”

Huffing something that wasn’t quite a chuckle, he put his head in his hands.

“Shit, mate, I suck at this. What do you want me to do? Spar? Raid the cake stash? What?”

Okay, so Chuck could be a real asshole. The brat was brash and arrogant – maybe even moreso since Pitfall – and a real pain in the ass. But that right there?

Warm fuzzies. The kid didn’t have a clue how to be comforting, how to be a friend, but… he was trying. It was nice. In a really weird, really awkward way.

Swallowing hard, Raleigh peeked through his fingers. “When I was a kid, Yance used to drag me up to the roof so we could look up at the stars and talk Star Trek.”

Chuck’s nose wrinkled. “Never got into it.”

Well, so much for that–

“But I reckon I could scare us up a couple of blankets. What time?”

A knot welled up in his throat, but he did everything in his power to keep Chuck from seeing his struggle. Fidgeting with his milk carton, he shrugged. “Midnight? That way, it’ll almost be…?”

A hard, heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. It was probably meant to be a friendly clap on the arm.

They’d work on it.

“Bonzer. Meet you there. Bring snacks.”

And just like that, the big bastard strolled off, hands in his pockets, likely to find some extra blankets. To sit up with a former rival and comfort him on the not-day of his brother’s death.

Despite the knowledge that it wouldn’t be the 29th for another few years, Raleigh found himself grinning and digging into his mashed potatoes with the first twinge of appetite all day.

“Yeah, Chuck,” he whispered, hoping no one heard him talking to himself but not really caring. "Meet you there.“ He shook his head. "With snacks.”


	2. The Crutch of Destiny - Raleigh and Chuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was originally part of [this tumblr post](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/132644894687/davecabbage-kagari-matoi-okay-but-what-if), where [davecabbage](http://davecabbage.tumblr.com/) and friends were discussing the best ways to rehabilitate Chuck WHO TOTALLY LIVED THROUGH PITFALL. Ahem.

“Not my fault you can’t keep up, Chuck.” Raleigh strolls a little faster, but not so much that Chuck actually falls behind. “If you’d done your PT like–WUH!!”

A crutch tip magically appears between his moving feet, tangling them together and pitching him forward even as Max is miraculously snatched out of his arms as he falls. In his astonishment, he doesn’t even think to throw his hands forward and break the fall.

-CRUNCH-

And now, he’s bleeding on the floor from both his nose and lower lip, his jaw feels dislocated, and he’s pretty sure his right eye came within eyelash-distance of splattering all over the concrete.

What. The. Fuck.

“…Becket?”

Oh. Right. There’s a Chuck somewhere behind him. Probably laughing his ass off with one crutch under one arm (the other is still twisted between Raleigh’s legs, the straight slats digging into his shin on the right leg and his calf on the left) and Max slobbering all over his stupid smug dimpled face.

“…Seriously, Becket, you still alive down there? Or did you bash the rest of your brains out after surviving pretty much everything else possible?”

Chuck sounds… concerned. Worried, even. Not a giggle to be heard.

“Nnnmmph.”

“Shit, are you nonverbal now? Did you actually break your jaw?”

 _Really_ concerned. Which is… probably good, right?

Wait. Chuck was fucking responsible for damn near splitting his head open. Fuck that guy.

Groaning as the real pain sets in – he probably needs another goddamn CAT scan, thank you very fucking much, Chuck – he shoves up just enough to drip on the floor instead of bleeding directly onto it.

“I see that you’re a little more mobile than you let on.”

“Look, Becket, I didn’t expect you to drop like a sack of kaiju shit, okay? Thought your goddamn reflexes were better than that!”

On his hands and knees now, his head still hanging, Raleigh hawks a wad of bloody spit onto the floor. “I sure as hell hope you’re mobile enough to run.”

“Oi, Raleigh, wait, I–”

Raleigh lurches to his feet, and the race is on.


	3. They Got My Dick Message! - Raleigh/Chuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's not really "for" anyone. Just got a wild hair up my ass over a dumb punchline that popped into my head, and this happened.

“Chuck?”

“Yeah, mate?” Chuck barely looked up from his lager. He didn’t have down days nearly as often as he used to right after Pitfall, but… some things didn’t stop just because they were over.

“Can… can I tell you something I haven’t told anyone else?”

That got his wandering attention, and he frowned as he looked over at Raleigh Becket, who sat less than a meter away, leaned back against the wall with his legs stretched across the width of Chuck’s double mattress. It had been a right bitch getting anything bigger than a twin, but Chuck had been persistent. One week of falling out of bed from thrashing nightmares of exploding, of Slattern’s tentacles tightening around his neck, of that single glimpse he’d had into another world had been ample proof of medical need.

It probably helped that his father was acting marshal and hadn’t been thrilled at all the midnight hysterics that he couldn’t help in even the slightest way.

Thus, Chuck got not only a double bed but his own room. _Finally_.

“Are you even listening to me right now?”

Blinking, he shook off his fog and tried to focus up. It used to not be so much a problem, but… well, sleep hadn’t come easy for months, and it was beginning to take its toll.

“Yeah, mate. Sorry. Just….” Chuck shrugged, unable to put it into words.

Thankfully, Becket nodded. “Yeah. I get it.” The bastard probably _did_ get it. He was a good bloke that way. Intuitive. “But… maybe this isn’t a good time. I can… we can talk about it later.”

“Nah, mate. Spit it out. I was just chasing wallabies. I can do that at 3 AM whilst staring up at the ceiling, yeah?”

Grinning a little, which made Chuck feel weirdly victorious – Becket still had a shadow about him that Chuck suspected had more than a little to do with those four minutes during which he had no recordable pulse in his pod – the bloke looked down at his own bottle of lager.

“I… I’ve been lying. To you. To everyone.”

He blinked. That… wasn’t anything he expected to hear. His eyebrows scrunched together in the beginnings of a frown. “Even to Mori?”

To his surprise, the silly sod nodded, eyes fixed on the condensation on his bottle. “Everyone. But… I feel like I have to say… something. I don’t like lying to you. Not anymore.”

Huh. Becket was about to trust Chuck Hansen with something he hadn’t even entrusted to Mako. That… sparked a warm feeling in his chest. He wasn’t used to being trusted. With the safety of the world, yes, but not with anything personal.

“Go on, then.” He tried to soften the statement. Make it more an invitation than an order.

It must have worked, because Becket swallowed hard, eyes averted. “Something… happened to me. In the Breach.” A flash of blue from a glance so quick Chuck would have missed it if he wasn’t suddenly riveted to Raleigh’s every movement. “I’ve been hiding it. I even hid it from Medical. It’s… God, Chuck….”

His mind raced even as he scooted closer in an inept but hopeful gesture of comfort. “Oi, Raleigh, you know you can tell me anything, yeah? I mean, we’re mates now. Worked it all out?”

Chuck didn’t think he’d ever had a real friend before, but he was pretty sure of his welcome here. He and Raleigh caught the occasional meal in the mess hall, sparred a few times a week, helped the jaeger techs organize the remaining jaeger scrap into useable piles if the funding ever came through for a rebuild. They talked like real people sometimes, and even – on evenings like this, when one of them was having a bad day – vegged out on Chuck’s oversized mattress watching old movies.

It felt nice to be… included. Chuck had stood aloof for so long, so focused on the end goal, that he’d never felt _included_ before.

Sure enough, the bloke nodded. “We are. That’s… that’s why I’m telling you this.” Taking a deep breath, Becket closed his eyes. “Okay. Here goes. That other world… changed me.”

He waited, but there didn’t seem to be anything else. “Changed you how?”

Becket’s head lowered further until he was almost curling in on himself. It just about broke Chuck’s heart to see the poor sod so miserable.

“Changed me… physically.”

He blinked, at a loss. “Yeah?”

Now, the bloke made a sad, miserable noise in his throat and pulled his knees up to hide his face against them. Muffled, he muttered something Chuck couldn’t quite make out.

Leaning close, he nudged his one friend with his elbow. “Oi, mate, didn’t catch that.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Becket broke. “I said I have, like, ten dicks now.”

Chuck jerked up straight, eyes wide, mouth working. What the fuck? What the fuck did he say to–

Becket was crying.

No.

No, Raleigh Fucking Becket was _laughing_. Laughing his ass off. Peeking at him from the dubious shelter of his knees and snorting at the gob-smacked expression that absolutely had to be painted all over Chuck’s face.

Chuck’s instantly-red-with-mortified-fury face.

**_“OI!”_ **

Laughing helplessly, the rotten bastard fell over onto his side, still curled up with his arms crossed over his stomach. Chuck, not really sure what to do with the roiling combination of fury and mortification and embarrassment and growing need for instant revenge inside him, shifted to hike his foot up and plant his boot right in the wanker’s ass to kick him off the bed.

“Wait, wait!” Gasping, the little shit tried to get ahold of himself. “Sorry. Oh, Chuck, the look–”

He didn’t quite kick, but he did give a shove with his foot.

“No!” Becket twisted and grabbed on, still snorting and snickering but getting the better of it. “Oh, man, Chuck, I’m so sorry, but I had to get your attention somehow.”

“With ten fucking dicks, asshole??”

Smirking now as the chuckles cycled down, the bastard had the sack to stretch out over the bed and tuck his hands behind his head. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He opened his mouth to rant a bit, then realized… yeah. It actually had. He’d been in a funk all morning, and, while he wouldn’t mind pelting Becket’s smug face with his favorite pillow for a half hour or so, Chuck felt… better.

Grunting and crossing his arms, he gave the bastard the evil eye. “You owe me big for that, Ray.”

“Looking forward to it, Charlie.”

His nose wrinkled, but he let it go. Raleigh only ever pulled out the cutesy nickname when Chuck pulled out “Ray”. After a long moment, Becket nudged him in the thigh with the toe of his boot.

“Yancy used to pull something like that when I had a bad comedown after a fight.”

Well, shit. Now he _really_ couldn’t protest. “Yeah, well. Whatever. It worked.”

The smirk had softened to a grin. If Chuck didn’t know better, he’d call that grin “fond”. That weird _included_ feeling came back, and he fought a blush at the stupid warmth it brought with it.

“So tell me, mate. What would you do with ten dicks, anyhow?”

Another laugh coughed out, and Becket sat up, returning to his place against the wall next to Chuck. “Probably just wear myself out, honestly.”

Okay, that got a laugh from Chuck this time. “Right. I forget you’re old as fuck these days, Becket. No stamina anymore. It’s a right pity, it is.”

But at that, Raleigh shot him… a look. A… _look_. A look Chuck had no idea what to make of but that seemed to reach down his throat and grab his stomach in a tight fist.

“You can test out my stamina any time, Hansen.” A slow, somehow hazy blink. “I’m up for the challenge, ten dicks or no ten dicks.”

Not quite sure what to make of that – _lies, Chuck, you know exactly what; he’s not talking about a spar_ – Chuck Hansen swallowed hard and looked away, gesturing toward the display where the last movie had already been sitting on the menu for a while.

“Thought we were finishing the trilogy, yeah?”

Smiling a bit, though still with that hazy look in his eyes, Becket shrugged. “Whatever you want, Chuck.”

_One of these days, mate, I’ll take you up on that._

And when he shot the cocky bastard a look, those hazy blue eyes met his with an easily read response.

_Ready when you are._

Well, then. Message received.

After the movie.


	4. The Vorpal Blade Went Snickersnack - Raleigh/Chuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for [strikersindanger](http://strikersindanger.tumblr.com/), who needed a pick-me-up. Happy to oblige, darlin.

“For God’s sake, Chuck, just sit down and shut up!”

Glaring, Chuck stubbornly remained standing. “Fuck you, Becket! I’m more than a bit particular about who I let come at my face with a blade!”

Raleigh threw his hands in the air, the gleaming implement of death in his hand catching the light in a blinding flash. “If I was gonna slit your throat, I’d have done it before finding out you’re a goddamn good kisser. Now, it’d just be a waste.”

Surprisingly, that brought down his red, and Chuck warily subsided enough to actually look at the bloke he was seriously considering fucking in the near future. Their one make-out session had been something of a surprise – they’d accidentally realized they were lying a bit too close to each other on the shatterdome’s roof whilst stargazing and… well… – and for the past week, neither of them had quite known how to react around each other.

But coming at him with a blade was just fucking rude.

“You sure you’ve done this before, mate?”

Becket rolled his eyes. “Would I have paid Chau double price for a kaiju bone-handled straight razor if I’d never used one before? Jesus, Chuck. I’m not going to hurt you. And you need a goddamn shave.”

Grunting, Chuck crossed his arms. It wasn’t that Becket’s argument didn’t make sense. He just…. “Just because your fucking delicate baby skin chafed when we made out doesn’t mean–”

“At this point, your scruff is a beard. Don’t even argue with me.” Brandishing the lethal metal in his hand as he shrugged, Becket glanced away. “And it didn’t chafe. It… burned.”

Chuck watched with unholy delight as the bloke’s cheeks tinged pink, and he abruptly decided he would do this. If for no other reason than the chance to see how far down that blush went.

“Right then.” He smirked. “Since your fragile flower skin can’t withstand the full might of my manly facial hair, I reckon I could stand a shave. But why does it have to be a straight razor shave?”

Unimpressed, Becket gave him The Look. “Fine. Whatever. I was gonna give you a shave you’d never forget, but whatever. Since you’re too chickenshit to trust me with a blade–”

“Oi!”

“–I guess I’ll just go give myself a face pampering the likes of which you’ve clearly never known.” Lifting his chin and smirking, Becket had the audacity to wink. “Bonus. Free wet shave for me.”

“Hold on just one fucking minute, Becket.” Called him chickenshit! “Set this shit up and get it over with, already. And you fucking owe me.”

A blowjob. At _least_.

The smirk deepened. Chuck groaned internally. He’d fallen right into Becket’s evil trap. Curse his fucking temper.

“Thought so. Now, sit down and get comfortable.” Turning away just enough to fiddle about in the sink until the tiny bathroom began to fog with steam, Becket gestured vaguely with his free hand. “And take off your shirt.”

Forcing a smirk he wasn’t sure he felt yet, Chuck obliged even as he sat on the barstool the bloke had rummaged from God knows where. “If you wanted me naked, Ray, all you had to do was ask.”

That got him a half-smirk and a glance from hooded blue eyes. “Maybe later.”

_That’s more like it, mate._

So, appeased, Chuck settled against the low back of the stool and awaited his fate. Until Becket turned around with a wet towel and started to wrap it around his fucking face.

“Goddammit, Ray–”

“Jesus, are we gonna have to argue every goddamn step?”

The towel actually felt… nice. It was warm, almost hot, and it left his face feeling relaxed and clean. So, instead of yanking it off and throwing it to the floor, he tilted back a bit to better keep it in place.

“See? It opens the pores and makes the shave smoother. Trust me. You’ll love it.”

Deciding to let this go a little further, since the first step felt like a pampering – which Chuck had never been used to, considering the fact that he’d grown up in one shatterdome after another with few luxuries and sometimes even few necessities – Chuck settled in to see what happened next. Becket hummed softly as he dithered about near the sink. Soon, a soapy, almost spicy scent prickled his nostrils, and he inhaled slowly to… classify it. Then again, just to enjoy it.

“The fuck is that, Becket?”

“Shaving soap.”

Though it smelled rather nice and Chuck was more than inclined to let Becket do just about anything so long as it involved a hot damp towel and whatever smelled so good, he couldn’t help but be curious. “You got something against cans?”

“Considering the fact that I’ve actually shaved with regular soap before because I couldn’t even afford a can of Barbasol, no. I have nothing against cans. This, however, isn’t about necessity.” Another waft of that full-bodied scent as Becket stepped closer. “Good shaving soap tends to have a higher fat content, which better moisturizes your face and contributes to a closer, smoother shave. It also helps the steam from the towel in softening your beard hair, again making the whole thing easier on your face.”

“Hn.” The towel unwrapped, and Chuck reluctantly opened his eyes, squinting against the bright glare of the flourescent bulb over the sink. “How do you know all this shite?”

A shadow passed over the bloke’s face, and Chuck felt bad for asking. “My dad had a taste for luxury. He taught Yance and I all about wet shaving when we got our first peach fuzz.”

Well, shite. Stepped on two landmines at the same time. _Nice going, Hansen._

Trying to salvage the mood, Chuck forced another smirk he didn’t feel. “Said like you got more than peach fuzz now, Babyface.”

Raleigh, good bloke that he was, quirked half a grin and held up a weird little brush coated with creamy white foam. Ah. That’s what smelled so good. At Chuck’s nod, he proceeded.

It felt… Jesus, it felt like a facial massage, smelled like a top-end bathhouse, and really did make his skin feel… pampered. He kept coming back to that word. It just fit.

Becket was pampering him. And Chuck was starting to fucking love it.

Thus, he didn’t even flinch when the bloke dandled the deadly weapon in the hot water stoppered up in the sink and made an obvious show of bringing it close to Chuck’s face. He had absolutely no protest at this point and merely sighed a bit when Becket leaned close, placed the fingers of his free hand just in front of Chuck’s ear, and gently pulled up to tighten the skin.

The warm blade felt like silk skimming over his cheek and jaw. Again. Four quick strokes, separated by a quick rinse in the hot sink water, and the bloke shifted to tilt Chuck’s jaw up enough to swipe up from his neck. He didn’t feel so much as a tingle of fear of the keen edge at this point. It felt….

Becket shifted again to stand right between Chuck’s knees, again touching the skin just before Chuck’s other ear, gently pulling it taut, and starting in on the other cheek and jaw. He stood close enough that Chuck could smell the scent of the bloke’s clean skin mixed with the musky, soapy smell of the foam, could feel the heat of that big body almost leaning right against him.

He wasn’t sure this was what Becket intended by offering a wet shave, but Chuck mentally signed on for this any fucking chance he got. He was all-in. On board. One hundred percent in favor of all of this forever.

The silken blade whispered carefully over his chin and his upper lip, and he half-hoped Becket would follow its touch with a kiss.

Unfortunately, Becket spoke, his voice low and rumbling. It hadn’t been that… intimate before. “Puff your right cheek a little.”

He did so, not feeling even a little silly, and Raleigh quickly slid the blade over the filled-in dimple there. Ah.

“Your left?”

Where the dimple was, of course, damn near a cavern. Chuck obliged, and the blade whispered over his skin one last time.

Becket moved away.

Even in the steamy heat of the room, Chuck almost felt cold and wished for that body heat back. To just stay there, maybe.

Then, another warm, damp towel eased up his neck and jaw, then over his mouth, cleaning off the rest of the foam. Sighing, Chuck started to sit up, only to stop when Raleigh pressed a hot palm to his naked chest. It felt like a caress, for all that the hand didn’t move.

“Not done yet, eager beaver.”

But despite the snark, the bloke’s voice was still low and rough, and Chuck sincerely hoped the gorgeous bastard was as muzzily turned on as he was. At this point, he knew without a doubt that a blowjob was definitely in order, although he was starting to think he owed one to Raleigh, instead.

As he again settled, another waft of some new but still glorious scent filled his nostrils, and he sniffed appreciatively.

“What’s that, then?”

“Bay rum aftershave. Chau got it from someone who makes it himself. It’s a special blend from my dad’s old recipe.”

And that was… nice. Becket sharing a piece of his past that, for once, wasn’t horrifically painful.

Chuck’s heart thudded awkwardly in his chest.

“Sit up a bit?”

He did so, and Raleigh gently patted the aftershave on, leaving a tingling, cooling sensation behind. Mesmerized, Chuck stared at the pretty bastard as he lightly touched his own face, then did so again because, fuck, his skin felt like warm satin. Smooth and almost poreless. Not even a hint of stubble.

Chuck was pretty sure he hadn’t been this bare-faced since before puberty.

Raleigh grinned crookedly, his eyes dark and his face flushed. From the heat? Maybe.

Maybe not.

“Like it?”

Biggest. Understatement. Ever.

“That.” Reaching out, he twisted his fingers a bit in the bloke’s singlet and tugged him closer. “Was.” Closer. “The hottest.” Closer still, right between his knees again. “Fucking.” Chuck tilted his face up, eyes half-closed. “Thing.” He brushed his silky-smooth cheek against Becket’s, which suddenly felt rough against his. Which was somehow also hot as hell. “I’ve ever felt.”

Becket’s heart thundered against the backs of Chuck’s fingers, his breath hot and rapid against the over-sensitive skin of Chuck’s freshly-shorn cheek.

He lowered his voice, drawing his face back until the corner of his lips just brushed the corner of Becket’s. “You can take a straight razor to my fucking throat any time, Raaaahleigh.”

To his heated delight, Raleigh shivered, stepping right against him and turning his head far enough to finally catch Chuck’s mouth with his own. And despite a week’s trepidation on what the fuck they would do with an attraction neither of them had suspected or even wanted, they picked right back up where they left off on the roof.

***

Two hours later, sweaty and exhausted and tangled in Raleigh’s blankets, Chuck scowled up at the ceiling and rubbed gingerly at his fresh-shaved cheeks.

“Stop. Laughing.”

“C'mon. It’s funny.”

“Beard burn is not. Fucking. FUNNY. Becket.”

The rotten sod snickered and laid his big, stupid, glorious body over Chuck’s, deliberately rubbing his horrifically stubbled stupid face against Chuck’s wounded skin. “Oh, so it’s funny when _I_ get beard burn, but suddenly it’s a Category Five Emergency when it’s _you_.”

“Shut up.”

Snicker, nuzzle.

“Stop it, ya wanker!”

Soothing some of the burn with gentle, nibbling kisses, Becket continued to snicker softly.

“Fuck you, Becket–”

“Too late.”

“Oi! Wasn’t finished!”

More kisses.

Huffing, he refused to acknowledge his own hand brushing up and down the glorious, shifting muscle of the bloke’s back. “As I was saying… fuck you, Becket. I’m taking that fucking straight razor to your face the second we get out of this fucking bed.”

Raleigh chuckled – right against Chuck’s pulse, which wasn’t playing fair. “Whatever you say, Babyface.”

“I hate you.”

“I know, I know.”

Grumbling, Chuck made no move to get out of bed.

Yet.


	5. ...If It Kills Me - Chuck & Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me (because I had occasion to apologize myself) that Chuck Hansen never got the chance to apologize to Raleigh for his behavior. Since we all know Chuck TOTALLY survived Pitfall, I decided that shit needed to be rectified immediately.
> 
> Well, after Chuck's had a chance to whinge internally about it for a few months because he may have learned to talk shit, but he never EVER learned to apologize for it.

For the first time in his life, Chuck Hansen had no idea what to say. He might have encountered this mysterious -- and unpleasant -- phenomenon as a child, but never in recent memory. These past years, he'd become quite adept at saying exactly what he wanted to say exactly when he wanted to say it.

Unfortunately, that was the problem. He'd said something, and he had no idea how to go about taking it back. Or, worse, apologizing for it. The very idea sent a shudder of near-revulsion through him.

See, even living through Pitfall -- barely, but definitely -- hadn't given him any real insight on how to do the right thing, here. He was pretty sure he knew what the right thing was. He just... couldn't say it. Didn't want to say it.

Well, he did _want_ to say it. He just didn't want to admit he _needed_ to.

This "being a functional adult human" thing was bullshit. He never signed on for this. He was supposed to die in a jaeger, die in glorious battle, and while, yeah, he might have thought about how it might be to not be on a hair-trigger all the time, to not worry that every minute might be his last... he hadn't exactly been prepared for the reality of it.

_"I wanna come back from this mission because I quite like my life."_

And he _had_ wanted to come back. He'd also been pretty sure he wouldn't. So... now what?

Because he'd said some other things during that little tit-for-tat -- and in the mess hall the day before -- that he absolutely shouldn't have, and now that he realized Raleigh Becket was a decent enough bloke with balls the size of the moon and more heart and courage than pre-Pitfall Chuck Hansen could have imagined... well....

He should really take some of that shit back.

But... how?

His father had been maddeningly unhelpful. His advice had been, "Jesus, Chuck, it's not rocket science. Just walk up to the bloke and say, 'Sorry I was an asshole', and be done with it."

If that was the easy way to apologize, Chuck broke out into a cold sweat imagining the gut-roiling agitation of trying anything more complicated. How the hell was he supposed to say he was sorry for scorning the poor bloke's starving on the Wall as an alternative to dying? For denigrating the loss of his brother -- in the Drift! -- and the sheer insanity of the bloke piloting solo -- twice, now -- with the same "whatever" as he'd thrown at the correction of Ray to Raleigh?

How was he supposed to apologize for saying Becket would get them all killed, then starting a barroom brawl -- _sans_ barroom, of course -- that might well have gotten the Kaidanovskys and the Weis killed because Gipsy was sidelined until too late to help them?

How did an asshole like him apologize to the bloke what had saved the world without it being too little, too late?

Chuck Hansen didn't fucking know, and the moment had been upon him at least three times since he'd been officially released from Medical, and each time, he'd chickened out and run away. Well, no more of that shit. If he could ride out an earth-shattering nuclear explosion in a flimsy escape pod that wasn't rated for much more than surviving the crashdown from the ejection -- and he'd never forgive Pentecost, the poor dead bastard, for the sucker punch upside the head that had disabled him just enough for the rescue gear to engage -- he could fucking well apologize for being the biggest wanker under the sun.

But maybe not now, with Becket sitting alone in the mess hall at 2:00 AM, looking like he'd last slept back when the Pacific Ocean was calm and beautiful and un-polluted by a scrim of Kaiju Blue. He hated to bother the bloke, especially when Chuck himself was exhausted by tossing and turning and nightmares and was one-hundred percent likely to make a complete muck of it all and accidentally say something infinitely worse than he already had.

Then again... there'd never be a better time. No one but Becket around to witness his inevitable fuck-up. No one to shoot him the stink eye when he said something he shouldn't. No one to tease him later for being sap enough to apologize in the first damn place.

What to do?

"Jesus, Chuck, I can feel you brooding all the way over here."

"Oi!" But it was true enough, and the moment was upon him yet again. "Was gonna bring you a cup of tea, but you're right out, now."

To his surprise, the bloke gestured at a mug on the table. "If you're looking for chamomile, it's in the top cabinet next to the big deep freezer. If you're looking for something caffeinated... well, you're on your own."

Of course Becket wouldn't know where the caffeine was. Poor sod was a notorious insomniac. Had been for years, by all accounts.

Shrugging, Chuck decided to delay the moment of crisis just long enough to brew himself a cup of brown joy. He didn't drink that herbal shite, but he did go for a nice oolong instead of his preferred strong English breakfast.

Unfortunately, now that he had a cup, he really had no choice but to sit down with the bloke and say his piece. God help him.

"Headache?"

He blinked and looked up from his cup. Becket was looking at him with surprising sympathy.

"Er, no. Why do you ask?"

The bloke tilted his head. "You look like something hurts. Since you weren't limping or moving awkwardly, I just assumed...."

Great. He'd been thinking so hard about what to say and dreading having to say it that he looked to be in physical pain. _Great start, Hansen. Way to really build it up._

"No, mate. I'm... fine, really. Just... couldn't sleep." He tried for a grin and missed the mark. "Slattern, tonight."

Becket nodded.

"It was the feel of the drivegear pulling me up into the pod last night." He knew it was unnecessary information, but it just slipped out. "I woke up thrashing and threw my sheets across the room before I knew what I was doing."

His entire face felt hot, and he knew he was blushing. Why the hell had he said any of that? He hadn't even told his old man, though he suspected the bastard knew. And probably had nightmares of worse.

Not that they ever talked about that sort of thing.

But Becket only nodded again. "Otachi tonight. When she took off for the upper atmosphere and I knew we were running out of oxygen and had no weapons and she was so much stronger than us. Last night...." The poor sod swallowed hard and put a hand over his heart. "Last night, Knifehead. When he drove his face right through Gipsy's chest. I... sometimes, I can still feel it."

Drove his face through Gipsy's chest... after tearing Yancy right out of the conn pod. Which Chuck should have damn well remembered before opening his stupid mouth and saying _anything_ to Raleigh Becket. Why had he been so angry? He didn't even remember now.

"Oi, Raleigh?" He even made sure to say the name right.

Which was probably why the bloke's eyebrows shot up.

"I just...." Taking a deep breath, he stared angrily down into his cup and bit the bullet. "I'm sorry, all right?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry I was such a wanker. I should've had some fucking sympathy, but I didn't. I jumped on you practically from the first moment you arrived, and there was no goddamn reason for it. I don't even remember why. But I talked a load of shite and acted even worse, and I'm sorry. Yeah?"

He'd broken out into a cold sweat and suddenly felt sweepingly ill. He was fairly certain it was impossible to contract an actual physical illness by way of simple apology, but he certainly felt like he had. Was this the Hong Kong flu he vaguely remembered hearing about as a kid?

After a long and excruciatingly uncomfortable moment of silence, Becket sighed.

"How long have you been holding onto that?"

His shoulders slumped, some of the cursed dizziness fading when the bloke didn't outright laugh at him. "If I'm honest, since Gipsy dropped into the harbor. You saved our asses, Ray, and there's no two ways about that."

Another long pause.

"Chuck?"

His shoulders hunched, but he forced himself to look up. Thankfully, Becket didn't look angry or ready to laugh. In fact, the bloke was just smiling softly, dark circles under his eyes and his face a bit gaunt from exhaustion.

"You could've just said so." The smile went a bit crooked. "No need to beat yourself up for three months."

Admittedly, he did feel more than a bit sheepish at the moment. All that drama, and it really hadn't been so difficult to spit it out, after all. Sure, he'd felt a bit peckish in that moment right after, when he didn't know how the bloke would take it, but--

Eh, who was he kidding? He'd been fucking terrified. The cold sweat was still drying off his back and the nape of his neck.

So, instead of getting fussed and throwing his still-steaming cup of tea in the smug jackass's face, he shrugged. "Figured it was penance, yeah? For being such a shit."

That stupid grin was still crooked. "I'm not Catholic."

To his surprise, he found his own mouth quirking to match it. "Neither am I."

Becket snickered, and Chuck couldn't help but join in. And somehow, in the empty mess hall in the darkest watch of a sleepless night, Chuck Hansen learned how to be forgiven.

It was a lesson a long time in the making, but he learned it very, very well.


	6. Going Up - Chuck/Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off [this glorious list of tumblr prompts](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/136355256187/aus-for-when-your-otp-are-both-assholes) for which, let's be honest, Chuck would be perfect every single time. But this is the one that spoke to me (this time):
> 
> _\-- I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it” AU_

Okay, so maybe Chuck Hansen was still new to this whole America thing, but he was pretty sure the new bloke moving into the sweet corner flat he'd coveted since moving in himself a month before was gilding the goddamn lily at this point. Tall, tanned, blonde, blue-eyed, jaw that could cut glass, shoulders broad enough to build a monument on, narrow hips, and thighs he couldn't help but want wrapped around his head. Who the fuck _was_ this wanker?

Of course, he could just ask, but that was so not his style. Unfortunately, his style seemed to involve a lot of glaring in the new bloke's general direction as they passed in the hall on their floor -- New Bloke with a stack of boxes and Chuck with his gym duffel slung over his shoulder -- and even more glaring as they passed again -- New Bloke with now-empty and crushed down boxes and Chuck liberally covered with sweat, his gym clothes stuck to him, his hair going every possible way -- going the opposite direction two hours later on the ground floor. To his credit, the new bloke had managed a civil, if confused, grin the first time by, but even Captain America apparently couldn't be arsed to grin when confronted by what Herc had dubbed Chuck's "Red Hulk look" a second time.

He couldn't help it, dammit. One of the biggest draws that convinced him to move into the Shatterdome Apartments even though his father lived there with his "heterosexual" life partner and former RAF pal, Stacker Pentecost, was the extensive gym set-up in the basement. What he hadn't known when he signed his lease was that a trio of Chinese triplets also lived in the 'Dome (three floors down), and they liked to team up on unsuspecting (and admittedly hot-headed) new people by challenging them to spars without specifying that they meant _sparring with all three at the same damn time._

While Mako Mori -- Pentecost's adopted daughter who was apparently good at every single thing ever, if Herc was to be believed -- watched with a small smile and an unholy light of glee in her dark eyes.

Thus, when he saw New Bloke trotting back his way, toned and flexing and gorgeous and _fuck all of that noise_ as Chuck stepped into the lift, he couldn't help but not want his first words to the bloke to be "Fuck you, this lift is mine!"

So... he might have pushed the "door close" button. A few times. A few _dozen_ times.

Worse, New Bloke saw him do it, if the frown on his face as he squirted through the finally-closing doors was any indication.

Swallowing his frustration -- and, yes, embarrassment -- Chuck stoically stared ahead, proud to honor the long-standing lift tradition of minding his own goddamn business and shutting the hell up. Unfortunately, just as the lift started to rise, New Bloke reached out and pushed every. Single. Button.

"What the fuck??"

His outrage didn't go unnoticed, but Captain Asshole only smirked, eyes narrow. "You're going up, right?"

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

Chuck was acutely aware that he was a fucking wreck and smelled like sweaty ass and looked like he'd been dragged through a damp, sweaty bush backward three times. But for the moment, he did not care.

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

Chuck lived on the thirtieth floor. So did Captain Asshole.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you in a hurry?"

The fucker sounded smug as hell, layered over with the thinnest patina of solicitousness. Chuck wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth. Even if it split those imminently kissable lips.

Gritting his teeth, he forced a grin that probably looked like a telegraphed punch. "Not me, mate. I got all day. Sorry about the reek, though." The grimace-grin widened until his dimples were etched into his cheeks. "Hope you don't mind."

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

Chuck's head started to pound as the veins in his temples throbbed furiously.

"Me? No way. I love working up a good sweat. By running for the elevator because someone was trying to close it before I could get there."

Fucking. Wanker.

"Too right." His teeth hurt from gritting them so hard. "You'd think people wanted to ride the lift alone or something, wouldn't you?"

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

His fists clenched.

"The nerve of some people." Captain Asshole shook his head, his expression just as jaw-clenched and phony as Chuck's. "I bet it's that kind of jerk who glares at new people moving in to really make them feel welcome."

"Oi, yeah." The throbbing in his temples crescendoed. "Those types _hate_ being guilted into helping people move in, carting heavy-ass boxes and the like. And dodging furniture in the hallways. And losing out on the good flat because their lease is too new to apply for a transfer when a really prime one comes open."

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

New Bloke gave him the side-eye. "Of course, that type wouldn't guess that the average new tenant wouldn't know any of that or expect any help from anyone. Or that they don't actually have any furniture yet, so the hallways should probably remain obstacle-free for a while."

Oh. Huh. Well, that was... huh.

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

They remained silent for a few floors. Eventually, the new bloke fidgeted a bit. Another floor came and went, and the fidgeting intensified to hands-in-pockets, then to hands-scruffing-through-hair. Chuck fought a grin, even as his own impatience mounted with each opening and closing of the doors.

Finally, at the twentieth floor, the bloke sighed. "You started it."

"Oi, the fuck?"

Blinking and frowning, Captain Not-Really-An-Asshole turned and actually faced Chuck, arms crossed over his broad chest. "You kiss your mother with that mouth, Captain Welcome?"

Chuck -- though a bit surprised to realize the bloke had probably been thinking about Chuck in much the same terms as Chuck had been thinking about him, even up to mentally labeling him "captain" something -- didn't bother turning to face the bloke. "Actually, Captain Asshole, I don't. Because she's dead."

The wanker blanched. "Oh."

_That'll teach you to make assumptions, dickhead._

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

"So's mine."

Without asking for permission, Chuck's eyes darted to the bloke's face and saw the sincerity of the shadow there. Yes, he knew that look quite well -- old loss, still raw.

"Oh." Swallowing hard, he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Sorry."

"Yeah. Me, too."

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

Blushing now, the bloke dragged a hand through his soft-looking, longish blonde hair again. That hair wasn't quite long enough for a tail, but it was definitely long enough to need Chuck's fingers raking through it. Dammit.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just moved here, and you're pretty much the only person who's even looked at me twice, and both times, you looked pissed that I even exist." He sighed. "I didn't know you had designs on my apartment. If you want, before I get completely moved in, we can talk to the super and see if we can switch, okay?"

Well, shit. Why the fuck did Captain Asshole have to go and be all decent?

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

Sighing, he gave in. "Name's Chuck."

One all-American blonde eyebrow rose. "Raleigh."

He snorted. "Yeah, this accent and that name are never gonna get along. I'm calling you Ray."

He couldn't quite guess what that expression meant. Appalled amusement, maybe? Either way, the bloke eyed him and warily offered his hand. Chuck, smirking softly enough to almost be a grin, took and shook.

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

"Why the hell did I push every damn button?"

He snorted again. "Because you're almost as big an asshole as I am."

And that? That got a full-on laugh, and from that moment on, Chuck Hansen vowed to be the best fucking neighbor Raleigh'd ever had. He wanted to hear that laugh every day. In close quarters. Say from the pillow next to his.

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

Shit. Only five floors left.

"So, do you need a hand with any of those boxes, mate? As you can smell, I'm already in dire need of a shower, so it's no worries working up another sweat."

But the bloke waved this off, still grinning. "Nah. I'm basically done getting stuff through the door. Now comes the daunting task of putting shit up where I'll actually find it when I need it."

Dammit. The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

"You fixed for food?"

Blue eyes regarded him, the grin tilting up a bit on one side. "Honestly, I haven't even thought about food. I have bottled water in the fridge, and that's about it."

Giving himself a mental high five, Chuck shrugged and grinned. "If I order some Thai food when I hit the door, it should be here by the time I catch a shower."

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

Three stops left. Chuck mentally crossed his fingers.

Finally: "You got a favorite place?"

Well, Herc and Pentecost did, anyway. "Yeah."

That eyebrow rose again even as the bloke's grin widened. "Do they have sweet and pungeant shrimp?"

Herc's favorite. Grinning as he felt victory draw ever nearer, Chuck merely nodded.

"I'll spring for chicken satay if you'll get spring rolls."

"Deal."

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

"Do you like movies? I could bring something over."

Chuck shrugged. "Depends on what kind. What's your pleasure?"

To his surprise, Raleigh again turned to face him directly, his expression suddenly serious. "Chuck, before we take this any further, before I decide if I can even bother knowing you, I need a serious answer. Okay?"

Frowning, Chuck debated whether or not to be a shit and decided not. "All right, mate. Shoot."

"Do you like Star Trek?"

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Not a soul in sight. The doors closed. The lift rose again.

One more stop.

His expression as serious as it had ever been, Chuck stared the bloke right in the eyes. "Don't bother bringing anything."

By God, the poor sod actually looked disappointed. _Really_ disappointed. That was the epitome of an "it started out so hopeful, so I never expected it to end like this" look if Chuck had ever seen one.

The grin snuck past. "I have the original series. And all of Next Generation. And the movies."

Raleigh's delighted smile was like watching dawn creep over a deep, verdant valley. Chuck could watch it every morning for the rest of his life and never get tired of it.

The lift stopped. The doors opened.

Grinning, they both stepped out and damn near ran right into Herc and Pentecost. Where the fuck did they come from? And why were they smirking like that?

"Oi, a little warning, yeah?"

But even he could hear the complete lack of annoyance in his voice, and he felt his face heat up when his old man's smirk deepened.

"What do you want I should do? Tie a bell around my neck?"

Raleigh looked from Herc to Chuck and grinned again. "Okay, so you two _have_ to be related."

Rolling his eyes, Chuck did the honors. "Raleigh, this is my old man, Herc." They shook politely enough. "That's Stacker, Dad's old friend from the RAF."

"Pleased to meet you, Raleigh." As always, Pentecost sounded ready to give an inspirational speech. Or emcee a funeral. Either way. "You're new here?"

To his surprise, Raleigh straightened and stood almost at attention. Huh. Was the bloke former military?

"I am, sir. Just moved into 30F."

Herc's eyes met Chuck's, and Chuck silently shook his head. Yes, it was the flat he'd wanted for himself. But hey. Maybe if he played his cards right, he'd be moving there anyway.

Thankfully, Raleigh and Pentecost were too involved in idle getting-to-know-you chitchat to twig to the Hansens' silent confab.

"Well, if you need any help with that, give me a ring. I can put in a word with some old friends."

Raleigh blinked. "Oh, no, sir. I couldn't ask--"

Pentecost held up a single hand, and the bloke stopped. "You can, and if you need it, you will. It's just a job, son, and the Kaidanovskys are always looking for good help. I insist."

The tips of Raleigh's ears turned pink, and Chuck found it entirely too endearing. What the hell had they been talking about while he was distracted?

No knowing now. They shook hands, and Pentecost eyed Herc expectantly.

"Sorry, boys, but we've got plans tonight." To Chuck's dismay, Herc waggled his eyebrows. It was horrifying. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do, yeah?"

"Oh, my God, _Dad_ \--"

But Raleigh was chuckling, so it was probably okay. The old fogies buggered off, and Chuck tilted his head toward the bend in the hall where they would part ways -- Raleigh into his sweet corner flat and Chuck further down.

"So... are they...?"

Chuck closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know, and I don't want to. What happens in 30B stays in 30B."

Raleigh chuckled again. "I guess that's probably the safest bet." Suddenly, the bloke paled a bit and shot Chuck a worried look. "I mean, not that I have a problem with it if they _are_. I mean, it's none of my business, but I'm not saying... I mean... fuck, you know what I mean...?"

Suddenly feeling very fond of his new neighbor, Chuck shook his head and grinned. "Don't hurt yourself, mate. My dad could go either way. I've just never asked Pentecost. I mean... can you imagine that conversation?"

Relieved, the bloke laughed a little hectically. "I'd rather not, thanks." Another side-eye, this one a nervous one. "I could, too. Uh... go either way."

Ah. That explained the nervousness. And Chuck's ridiculous, swamping wave of relief.

_Play it cool, Captain Welcome._

"Good to know, mate." Forgetting for the moment that he was sweaty and gross and his hair was absolutely fucked, Chuck gave the bloke a wink. "It seems to be going around."

It took a second, but Chuck saw the instant the light dawned, and again, Raleigh's smile was a sunrise Chuck would wake up at 5 AM to watch every day.

"So... half an hour?"

"Yeah. Hu Li's is, like, five blocks down, so they're always fast."

Raleigh grinned. "I meant for your shower." The grin tilted again. "No offense, but you're a little ripe."

"Cheeky fuck!" But he was fighting a grin and he had no doubt Raleigh knew it. "It's your fault, anyway. You trapped me on the goddamn lift long enough that I started to dry."

Well, shit. There was the corner. Luckily, Raleigh gave him another side-eye. A cheeky one.

"Is it weird that I'm kinda glad I did?"

_Play it cool?_

Eh, what the fuck.

"I dunno about you, but _I_ sure as fuck am."

Okay, such bright blue eyes should not be capable of darkening so quickly. And those lips and that _smirk...._

"Half an hour?"

Feeling his own mouth smirk to match, he deliberately leaned a little closer and to hell with how bad he stunk. "I wouldn't kick you out for showing up early, mate."

The bloke's breath caught, his eyes darkening further. "I can already tell. You're gonna be the death of me, Chuck."

His point made and made well, Chuck pulled back out of the bloke's space and gave a snarky little salute. "Yeah, but what a way to go."

Then, the bloke outright cheated. He bit his lip and looked Chuck over from battered sneakers to fucked-up ginger fight-hair.

"Half an hour, Chuck."

Maybe it'd be a cold shower instead of a hot one. Or... maybe not.

"Not a minute later, Ray."

With another slow, lingering appraisal, the bloke finally dug his new keys out of his jeans pocket and turned to unlock his apartment. Chuck wanted to stare at that gorgeous ass -- he had always admired how a good pair of jeans could turn a nice ass divine, and Raleigh's ass looked like it didn't need the help at all -- for approximately a week, but he had business to attend to.

Namely, ringing up Hu Li's Thai Paradise, some serious personal grooming, a quick clean-up of his flat, and a quick check of his condom and lube supplies. It never hurt to be prepared.

And as he let himself into his own apartment and practically leapt for the cell phone he'd stupidly left on the charger, Chuck Hansen couldn't help but be very, very glad he'd moved here, after all.

God bless America.

**THE END**


	7. Is This Spot Taken? - Raleigh and Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, [this list of "your OTP are both assholes" prompts](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/136355256187/aus-for-when-your-otp-are-both-assholes) is pure gold. This time, I picked this one:
> 
>  
> 
> _\--You drive a massive SUV and steal my parking spot all the time and I was just heading out to leave a strongly worded note under your windshield wiper but oh no you’re hot AU_

"You're really this mad over an SUV in your parking spot."

"Yance, it's not an SUV. It's a fucking Hummer, and I want to punch its owner's face in."

Yancy Becket, well used to his brother's opinion on the self-importance of people who unironically drive Hummers, merely smiled. "Because it's in your parking spot."

"Because it's a gas-chugging measure of some asshole's dick size!"

"In. Your. Parking spot."

Raleigh Becket, far too worked up for something as simple as a stolen parking spot -- and all too aware of that fact and, thus, even _more_ annoyed -- threw his hands up and sighed dramatically. He knew he was being over-the-top about the whole thing, but seriously. Every single day this week.

No, the parking spots in their townhouse complex weren't exactly assigned. That said, everyone in the neighborhood knew the two spots closest to each townhouse's walk-up were understood to be for the people in that townhouse. There were a few extra spots across the lot for guests and the like, but it was an unstated rule that you didn't park _right in front of_ _someone else's freakin' townhouse._

Common courtesy, dammit.

But for the entire last week, the Hummer.

"Rals, c'mon." As always, Yance tried to bring down his red. "It's not like you're having to park in Alaska and walk to the front door. You're literally just parking on the other side of the lot. It's like twenty extra feet."

Gritting his teeth, Raleigh glared at the wall blocking his glare's fury from the ridiculous, oversized, over-showy Hummer currently stretching the boundaries of his parking spot. "It's the principle of the thing. It's fucking rude."

"Have you tried talking to the guy?"

He grumbled and crossed his arms, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and ignoring whatever the hell his brother was watching on TV. Godzilla versus the Transformers, he thought, but he honestly hadn't been paying attention.

Yance, the jerk, smirked and elbowed him. "I'm sorry, little brother. I didn't catch that."

Okay, that got the Stink Eye. "I _said_ I don't even know if it's a guy. Herc said something about his step-daughter maybe dropping by during the holidays, so it might be her."

Yancy perked up. Because he was a jerk like that. "Oh, Mako? Stacker's daughter? Man, I've been dying to meet her! Stacker says she's a real spitfire. Head of a major engineering research department, right?"

Raleigh rolled his eyes. If Herc Hansen and Stacker Pentecost weren't married, he was pretty sure Yance would have already tried sticking his hands down the big Brit's pants. And Yance wasn't even bicurious. He just had a not-so-small mancrush on ol' Stacks.

And hated it when Raleigh called their adjoined-townhouse neighbor ol' Stacks.

And probably wanted to meet the mysterious Mako in hopes of falling madly in love with her and marrying into the Hansen-Pentecost family. Because Yancy was weird like that.

Raleigh just wanted to punch the Hummer driver in the face. Although from how Herc talked about the girl, she'd probably punch back. He admitted freely that he rather liked that about her.

But back to the Hummer.

"Fuck this." He shoved up off the couch and rummaged around in the hall closet for his shoes.

"Rals?"

"Don't even try to talk me out of it."

He could feel Yancy's eyes rolling even from halfway to the back of the closet. "Talk you out of what?"

"Shut up."

He finally stumbled back out of the closet, shoes in hand, just in time to see that, yes, Yancy was rolling his eyes. The jerk.

"Whatever you're doing, I want no part of it. I wash my hands of you."

"Okay, Pontius Pilate. You just sit there while I go crucify myself a Hummer driver."

"Oh, my God, Rals, that is so not--"

"Ignoring."

Indeed, he did his best to turn off his ears as he dropped his shoes on the tile and went to the little writing desk his mother had left them when she died. He rummaged around for a pen and some paper, then sat himself down on the little spindly chair that went with the desk and started writing.

Raleigh knew he wasn't the most eloquent man in the world. To anyone besides Yancy and sometimes their friend Tendo, he was a man of few words. He knew well that plenty of people considered him the dumb brother, the golden retriever with the golden god's body who looked pretty and didn't do much else. He was usually fine with that because the people whose opinions mattered -- namely, Yancy and Tendo -- knew better.

Thus, if the Hummer driver had any idea whose parking spot he/she had taken, Raleigh wanted this note to be a huge fucking surprise.

 

 

 

>   
>  _To whom it may concern:_
> 
> _While I realize the parking spots in this neighborhood aren't exactly assigned, it is common knowledge that the spaces directly in front of each townhouse are intended for the people living in that townhouse. If you are a guest, please park your over-sized gas-guzzler across the street where it can be devastating to the environment in an otherwise unobjectionable location. If you are a new resident, please park your blatantly phallic mode of transportation in front of your own townhouse._
> 
> _Thank you, A non-dick-measuring resident_

 

Yup. That oughtta do the trick.

Satisfied, he folded the note over once, went back to the entryway and slipped on his running shoes, and headed outside, oblivious to Yancy's renewed protests. He'd learned how to turn a deaf ear on his brother by the time he was ten.

However, that didn't mean he didn't actually hear the words, and when he abruptly realized someone was currently climbing into the ugly desert-camo-painted Hummer, they caught up with him.

"Rals, wait!" his brother had called. "No, Rals, he's out there now-- dammit, Raleigh, _do not_ get in a fight--!"

He paused, midstep, and mentally apologized to his brother for not listening. Because yeah. He was pretty sure he was getting into a fight.

"Hey!"

It came out loud and annoyed, just like he wanted. He'd planned to stick the note under the windshield wiper, but at the moment, that felt a little too passive aggressive. Plus, the shout got the guy's attention a lot better, and the stranger aborted his attempt to climb inside the ridiculous vehicle to glare between the open door and the windshield at him.

Raleigh's stomach dropped.

The stranger was hot.

The stranger was stupidly, annoyingly, infuriatingly _hot_.

"Oi, you got a problem then, precious?"

Shit. Shit on a biscuit and call it a sandwich, that was Herc Hansen's gloriously over-the-top Australian accent, but in a different, rumbling tone and said with just the perfect amount of "fuck you" to flip switches Raleigh didn't even know he had.

Was... was this... Chuck?

"What's the problem, pretty? Cat got your tongue?"

Pretty? Was that a compliment or a snark? Because Raleigh was currently in old flannel pajama pants that had seen better days, a t-shirt that should've been washed three days ago, and untied running shoes with no socks. And he couldn't really remember if he'd brushed his teeth when he got up an hour ago.

"Fucking wanker."

Okay, it was said under the guy's breath, but Raleigh heard it clearly enough, and it brought back all his irritation at the Hummer driver constantly kyping his parking spot.

"You know, pal, it's really rude to...." He stopped and snorted. "Honestly? To do just about everything you're doing right now."

Ginger eyebrows -- yeah, that definitely had to be Herc's kid, but the way the man talked about his son, he'd expected... older? younger? completely different in every possible way? -- shot up. "Oi, the fuck are you on about?"

He held up one finger. "One, taking up a parking space clearly intended for the people attached to the walkway you're currently blocking." A second finger went up. "Driving a Hummer. Do you know how much gas those things burn? And how bad their emissions are?" A third. "Getting all confrontational with a guy who has literally only said one word to you." Four. "Deliberately antagonizing your father's neighbors for no good reason."

Five: looking too goddamn good to be real in plain, faded jeans, an old grey t-shirt, worn-in combat boots, and a leather jacket. But that one, he didn't say out loud.

Those ginger eyebrows were in danger of flying off the top of the kid's head. "Oi, you got some cheek, mate. You're the one what came charging out of your flat looking like a snake crawled up your ass, and that one word you said was about as welcoming and howdy-neighbor as a flaming bag of dogshit on the porch."

Yup. This was Chuck Hansen. The asshole didn't even bother denying it.

"As for driving a Hummer... I'm on break between deployments, ya wanker. What the fuck am I supposed to drive? You want I should waste my money renting a car when I can just borrow one from the base?"

Oh. Huh. Eyes widening, he looked at the oversized vehicle with a less jaundiced eye and... oh. Yeah. Now that the kid pointed it out... that wasn't a commercial model. The paint job wasn't ironic or even an "I love the military!" statement.

"And taking up your goddamn parking spot?" But here, the jerk fumbled a bit. "Uh... yeah, sorry about that one. Dad didn't say anything about it, so I didn't know."

Dammit all to hell. Why couldn't the asshole keep on being an asshole? Because in addition to being sex on two legs, the jerk now looked adorably abashed as he scruffed a hand through his unruly hair. And, now that Raleigh was actually looking at him, the kid did look tired. Hollow around the eyes.

Raleigh knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror any number of times between deployments before he and Yancy were honorably discharged with Purple Hearts for being wounded in combat.

His red completely gone, Raleigh slumped. "When do you get out for good?"

The kid's eyes met his, then skittered away. "One more tour. I got another week, then I'm out again for nine months."

"You're not staying in?"

Now that he wasn't unreasonably furious, Raleigh vividly remembered Herc sighing during the weekly card game a month or so ago, taking a larger than usual swig of his imported beer, and muttering that he feared his son would stay in the service until it killed him. Stacker had quickly declared poker night over and taken his suddenly maudlin husband back home to sleep it off.

The kid opened his mouth and shut it a few times. Then: "I... Dad says...." Sighing, the kid gave up and shut the Hummer's door, coming around its front to lean back against the broad grille and cross his arms. "I dunno, alright? I thought I would, but... Mako says they have room for another research partner on an upcoming project, and that's what I've always wanted to do, but I always... I...." Frustrated, he shot Raleigh a half-hearted glare. "Why am I even talking to you about this?"

He put his hands up, belatedly remembering the note clutched in one of them. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Just...." Putting his hands back down (and surreptitously stuffing the note in the pocket of his pajama pants), he shrugged. "I've been there, ya know?"

Chuck squinted, looked ready to say something snarky, then caught sight of... oh. His dogtags. They were tucked out of sight under his t-shirt, as always, but there was still an outline. And the chain, of course.

Then, the kid straightened. "Wait. Wait... are you Yancy?"

His eyebrows rose. "Raleigh, actually. Yancy's my brother."

A lightbulb went on behind the kid's eyes. "Shit, you were medically discharged, and I've been taking your goddamn parking spot all week! Jesus, I'm an asshole!"

And that, well... Raleigh couldn't help but laugh. What the hell had Herc told his son about his neighbors?

"Oi!"

"Sorry, sorry!" But he couldn't quite stop chuckling. "Chuck, right?"

The kid nodded, looking equal parts irritated and apologetic. It was fucking adorable. Chuck Hansen might be a fucking gorgeous asshole, but he was disgustingly cute when he felt even a little bit awkward.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. It's not... Yance is the one with the bum leg. Mine is my left arm. You're not stealing a handicapped space, okay?"

Those broad shoulders relaxed a bit. "Thank God for that. Dad would've skinned me raw." Was... was that a grin? And _dimples?_ "He's taken a bit of a shine to you two sad sods. Talks about you all the time. I'm pretty sure Stacker wants to adopt the pair of you and add you to his collection."

Raleigh grinned, feeling a little unreal at the turn the day had taken. And it wasn't even 9 AM. "Two ginger Aussies, one Japanese engineer, and two hobbled Alaskan nobodies?"

The kid's grin widened, the dimples carving deep into his cheeks, and Raleigh was officially a goner. "You have a shite sense of humor, mate."

He shrugged. "Takes one to know one?" When the kid rolled his eyes, Raleigh stuffed his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling awkward because... well, he wasn't sure why. "Uh... so have you had breakfast?"

What. The. Fuck. He could almost hear Yancy in his head, sternly repeating "No, Rals, bad Rals" over and over. In fact, he wouldn't put it past his "I wash my hands of you" brother to be surveilling the current interaction through the curtains in their dining room, which had the best view of the lot.

Blushing and unsure if he should've just said an awkward goodbye and gone back inside or not, he waited for Chuck's answer.

Though the kid's eyes had narrowed a bit, the grin didn't fade. It did, however, turn into a smirk. "Why? Have you?"

He cleared his throat and shifted his feet, clearly reminded that he was in pajamas and probably should have put on socks because his feet were getting all humid in his running shoes without them. "Uh, yeah, actually. I have."

 _Then why did you ask, you moron??_ the Yancy in his head demanded incredulously.

He winced.

Whether Chuck saw it or just took pity on him, he might never know. All he knew for sure was that, when Chuck Hansen softened, it was a beautiful and glorious thing. Those changeable grey eyes warmed, the smirk melting to an honest-to-God smile, the dimples just... too much.

"Honestly, mate, I was just running out for a decent cup of coffee. If you can bear to lace up your tennies, you can come with, yeah?"

Yup. Totally done for. He didn't even drink coffee.

He glanced down at himself. "Can I have ten minutes?"

Chuck's head tilted back a bit. "Five."

"Deal."

Those fucking dimples would be the death of him. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to stare pitifully at them, so he yanked his hands out of his pockets and ran for the door.

"Okay, Rals, what the hell--"

"No time! I'll tell you later!"

He took the stairs three at a time and hit his room on the run. He dug frantically for the jeans that Tendo said made his ass look like a welcome mat, hauled on a faded blue t-shirt with his old troop's logo on it that was, honestly, a little too small, but he figured that just made his chest look that much more broad, and hurried to the attached bathroom to stare at his hair in dismay. What the hell did he even do with bedhead?

Inspiration struck, and he decided to just call it bedhead and act like he'd done it on purpose.

Socks. Socks were absolutely mandatory at this point. Especially since he planned on wearing his own worn-in combat boots and his old, comfortable leather jacket.

He pelted down the stairs, rummaged around in the closet for his boots and jacket, and only paused long enough to tell an astonished and confused Yancy that he'd be back soon before practically running back out the door.

And found Chuck reading... oh, shit. He must have dropped the note when he cut and run. Well, shit. Just when the day was shaping up.

Sure enough, the kid lifted one ginger eyebrow and gave him a bit of a stink eye. "Were you gonna stick this under my wiper?"

No sense lying. The kid had him dead to rights. "Yeah. I was... well."

"Pissed off and planning to be a passive aggressive dick about it?"

He sighed. "Pretty much."

Then, Chuck folded up the note and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. "You're sittin' on a lot of rage, Becket."

Dammit. Looked like his can't-lose jeans were going to waste today. It was a nice thought while it lasted.

"I particularly like the bit about how my Hummer's a phallic symbol."

His eyebrows drew together, and he met the kid's eyes. Chuck... wasn't mad?

"But if you really wanna know my dick size, mate, you'll have to check for yourself." Oh, that smirk. Those fucking _evil_ dimples. "I know you say you're not a dick-measurer, but I'm sure you'll make an exception." Ginger eyebrows waggled. "My Hummer isn't the only thing taking up too much space, ya know."

His face flushed, and his own dick picked exactly that moment to announce itself.

"You comin', or what?"

It was out of his mouth before he could even think to stop it. "Not yet, but it's only a matter of time."

Warm grey eyes heated further, and Chuck Hansen -- he of the certified life-ruining dimples -- jerked his head toward the massive Hummer that had been the cause of... just... all of this.

Raleigh Becket fucking loved that Hummer.

And as he climbed up into the passenger seat, he couldn't help but appreciate the fact that the interior was roomy as hell. He also couldn't help a glance at the raised flat area between the seats in the back.

"Later, mate." This close, Raleigh could make out the hints of blue and green in those grey eyes. "Coffee first." Those eyes ran assessingly down from his face to his chest to his lap, then back up to his face. "Got all week, yeah?"

Grinning a little, Raleigh cheated shamelessly, dipping his head down just enough to look up at Chuck through his eyelashes. He'd been told repeatedly that his baby blues could stop a war when he looked at someone like that. Thus, he wasn't surprised when Chuck's eyes widened and the kid caught his breath.

"It'd be a shame not to use it."

Chuck licked his lips, then lightly bit the lower one, his eyes dark and heavy with intent. "Glad we're on the same page, mate."

And, though he'd been ready to yank the brat's ginger hair out by the roots less than an hour ago, Raleigh couldn't agree more.

But, like the kid said... coffee first.

They had all week.

**THE END**


	8. The Best Laid Plans - Chuck and Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is all [estei's](http://estei-feist.tumblr.com/) fault. SHE DID THIS TO ME with [this tumblr prompt](http://estei-feist.tumblr.com/post/136505728753/gutterballgt-estei-feist-someone-should) about how Raleigh would react to someone switching out his sweaters with awful Christmas sweaters.

"Uh... Chuck?"

Focused on his latest acquisition, Chuck didn't even glance at the old man. "What?"

"Honestly, that's... what I'm asking you. What."

Blinking, he finally put down the final piece of his multistep, fool-proof plan and looked his father full-on. " _What_ what?"

Herc rolled his eyes. "You know what? Never mind. I swear you do this shit on purpose."

His eyebrows shot up. "Of course I do it on purpose. Why wouldn't I?"

Confused again, the old man threw up his hands. "I give up. Whatever you're doing, I want no part of it."

And, just like that, Hercules Hansen turned on his heel and strode out of Chuck's bunk without a backward glance. For a brief moment, Chuck worried that all the piloting had finally been too much for Herc and his old man really was losing his faculties like the reports speculated. Then, he caught sight of his latest find and forgot all about his father's encroaching senility.

It was hideous. It was the worst thing he'd ever seen. It almost hurt his eyes to look at.

It was _perfect_.

\--

It took entirely too much sneaking about and a large amount of bribing one Mako Mori -- whose lone, unbudging demand was to be in the room during the big reveal -- but today was the day. He'd spent weeks sneaking into Becket's bunk while Mori kept him busy elsewhere, timing everything perfectly and switching things out one at a time, but it would all be worth it soon.

Any minute now.

Aaaaaaany minute now.

Mori strolled into the mess hall alone, and Chuck lost what little was left of his patience. Gritting his teeth, he stood up from the table with the best view of both the entryway and the rest of the bustling tables and stomped over to her.

"Oi, what the fuck?"

Unimpressed, she stared at him. "He is on his way." Then, as if she simply couldn't help herself anymore, she grinned broadly. "Oh, Chuck. What you have done to that poor man."

His smirk returned full force, and he felt the prelude to victory wash through him. This... would be epic.

Chuffed and not bothering to hide it, he ran back over to his specially-scoped-out seat and waited. If this didn't pay Becket back for getting him drunk enough at Thanksgiving to start singing old REO Speedwagon tunes -- and he 100% blamed Herc for him even knowing who that was -- nothing ever would.

Victory was at hand.

Raleigh Becket strolled into the mess hall, and everyone fell silent. Thunderously so. Chuck's chest swelled with elation. This was even better than he imagined.

It had taken weeks of sneaking in and replacing the crappy old jumpers one at a time, but now, there were none left. If Becket wanted to wear one of his stupid jumpers, he'd have to wear a terrible, eye-gougingly awful _Christmas_ jumper.

Chuck had given him quite the selection, each more terrible than the last. The great Raleigh Becket was currently wearing one in a godawful kelly green with a cartoon reindeer head woven into the pattern and stuffed antlers sticking off at odd angles, a red pompom for a nose. It was one of the worst things Chuck had ever seen.

The entire mess hall broke out into snickers, then outright guffaws. The sound was so, so sweet. Chuck reveled in it, even as Becket stood there like a moron, hands in his trouser pockets, a stoic look on his stupid face.

Even Mori, usually so in control of her expressions, actually had to sit down, she was laughing so hard.

Finally, as Chuck coasted on a high of endorphins from a plan gone perfectly right, the laughter crested and waned, trickling down to exhausted chuckles as jaeger techs and Wei siblings wound down from their hilarity. Even the Russians had cracked terrifying smiles, and Chuck was pretty sure the big guy had chuckled once.

Fucking. _Success_.

Then, Becket cleared his throat and spoke loudly over the few remaining cackles. "So. Whoever replaced all my sweaters with Christmas sweaters?"

The bloke. Sounded. _Pissed_. Chuck wanted to squeal with exultation. If he wasn't Chuck Fucking Hansen, he'd have already done so by now. But even in victory, he had a reputation to uphold.

It was a very near thing, though.

Becket eyed the entire crowd, likely looking for an expression of guilt. His eyes skimmed over Chuck's without stopping because Chuck was a fucking master strategist who had already straightened his expression.

When no one gave themselves up, Becket suddenly grinned brightly and flicked one of the stuffed antlers. "I'm actually totally okay with this. Thanks!"

The bottom dropped out. Chuck's mouth dropped open. His ears roared, drowning out the ripple of chuckles the announcement pulled from the oblivious idiots surrounding him.

No. NO. Raleigh Fucking Becket could not yank this victory out from under him like a cheap rug.

And then Mori cheerily blew his cover.

"It was Chuck!"

His head whipped her direction without consulting with his brain. Betrayal swamped him, and he gasped like a little old lady clutching her pearls.

"He's been working on it for weeks. Wasn't that nice of him?" She shot Chuck a look so full of smirk and asshole hiding behind that demure little smile that he couldn't even form words. "He didn't want to say anything, but... seeing how happy it's made you, I knew he deserved thanks from you directly."

That... she was... he couldn't... what the fuck??

And Becket... oh, kaiju on a cracker, but Becket was striding toward him, arms out, that fucking awful jumper leading the way and... holy shit, the bloke was hugging him _what the fuck??_

"Oi!?!"

And sniffling! What the ever-loving fuck??

"Thank you, Chuck. How did you even know? I... I thought you still hated me!"

 _I do!_ he wanted to shout while flinging the sniveling asshole across the room.

"I haven't had a Christmas sweater in, like, a decade, and now I have _eight_ , and... just... _thank you_. So much. Just...."

 _Let the fuck go of me, you fucking wanker!_ hovered on the tip of his tongue, but... the bloke sounded so fucking sincere. And the grip around his neck and shoulders was damn near desperate. And while he didn't doubt that Becket could fake a thank you as easily as he'd faked stoicism earlier, he didn't think--

Oh, shit. Were those tears? From where the poor sod had buried his face against Chuck's neck?

Jesus Christ. This was not what he'd signed on for. He'd just been tired of seeing that pitiful selection of ragged, unravelling, no-color jumpers only occasionally supplanted by the one clean and whole PPDC jumper he'd picked out his first day in the 'Dome. Okay, and he thought it'd be hilarious for the wanker to have no choice but to look like a walking disaster on which Christmas had vomited.

So... reluctantly, he patted the bloke's back, then gave in entirely and actually hugged back when that desperate grip only tightened. The mess hall fell dangerously silent, and he snuck a glance only to see Mori shoo-ing out the last stragglers to give Becket a moment to fall apart in peace.

She really was a good sort. For an _outing back-stabber_.

"C'mon, Becket. It's just a couple of jumpers." But his voice was quiet and... soothing, and he couldn't help but stroke one hand up and down the bloke's back. "I didn't know they'd... upset you like this."

It was the truth. He'd expected embarrassed fluster, not heartfelt gratitude and silent tears.

Becket sniffled but didn't pull away. "I'm not upset. I mean, I am, but... just...." Finally, the silly sod pulled away, swiping at his nose and eyes with the cuff of the awful jumper and unable to meet Chuck's eyes. "Sorry. I... uh... it just hit me."

It was probably rude to swipe at his damp neck, so Chuck shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, just to be sure. He had no idea what to do here.

"What just hit you, mate?"

Swallowing hard, the bloke averted his eyes, embarrassed now where he hadn't been before. And now that he saw it up close, Chuck... didn't like it. It wasn't "ha ha, look at the silly wanker in his ugly jumper" embarrassed. It was "I had a small breakdown in front of my former enemy and it ended in hugging" embarrassed, and that was never what Chuck wanted.

"What they mean, ya know?"

Gentling his admittedly gruff voice even further, Chuck shook his head. "What do they mean, Raleigh?"

Another hard swallow. "Christmas sweaters mean... the holidays... mean family get-togethers, mean...." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. "I didn't have any family for such a long time, and it's like someone was giving me a family get-together, one ugly sweater at a time."

Well, fuck. He hadn't meant it that way at all.

But with those dark blue eyes averted and a little red-rimmed, the bloke's nose pink from the sleeve-rubbing, the cheeks flushed and growing more flushed by the moment as he likely realized exactly who he'd cried all over, Chuck decided that maybe he'd meant it that way, after all. Because they _were_ all a family, now. Everyone had lost someone. The survivors only had each other.

So... Chuck gave up his victory and changed his strategy. He was flexible like that.

"You're welcome, mate." He even grinned a little when the bloke looked up at him through those fuck-all lashes, still damp from his upset. "Glad you like 'em, yeah?"

After a second look, likely to be assured of Chuck's sincerity, Becket finally grinned again, his shoulders un-hunching as he stood up straight. Chuck hadn't even realized the bloke had curled in on himself, but it was a relief to see him open back up.

"Honestly? They're hideous." The grin turned into a smirk. "I'm pretty sure one of them almost made my eyes bleed."

Scowling, Chuck crossed his arms and huffed incredulously. Just when he'd tried to be nice--

Then, Raleigh Fucking Becket leaned forward and... what the fuck... kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He would swear on his deathbed that the flush that immediately swept him from head to toe was instant fury. It _was_.

"They're perfect."

Warm breath. The lightest movement of lips against his cheek with the words. A whiff of shampoo and mint -- likely from one of the candies the bloke always kept in his pockets -- and a warm, pleasant scent that was just Raleigh Becket.

And then it was gone. Head ducked low, the bloke turned on his heel and hurried away. For a moment, Chuck wasn't sure if he wanted to run after the wanker and deck him or... something else.

He lightly touched his cheek where the bloke had kissed him. The skin there still tingled.

Grinning softly and ridiculously glad Mori had herded everyone out of the room so no one saw the sappy expression -- reputation, dammit! -- Chuck Hansen stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and strolled out of the empty mess hall, already planning his next victory.

He wondered if Chau could scare up some mistletoe.

He had a whole new plan.

**THE END**


	9. A Thousand Times Yes - Chuck/Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this "imagine your OTP" prompt](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/143759270107/estei-feist-gutterballgt-alrightevans-i) on tumblr. Chuck just really wants some free cake, okay?

“Ray, we need to get engaged.”

Raleigh didn’t put down his slice of pizza, but he did stop just short of taking a bite. “…No?”

“Seriously, mate. Tendo’s busy with his kids, Mako’s too honest, and Dad said no because it’d be weird.”

He blinked. This time, he put down the pizza. “Chuck… you asked your dad to marry you?”

“Jesus, get on the right fucking page, mate.”

“Frankly, right now, there isn’t another page. Why would you ask your own father to marry you?”

The big jerk flung up his hands. “Because they have free cake samples at that Russian wedding store next to the lab, but only if the couple comes in together and only for the next two hours. So get a fucking move on, yeah?”

Blinking again, Raleigh shook his head. “I can’t even begin to think of a reason you would make that up.”

“I didn’t! Jesus, will you fucking be my fiance for, like, two hours or not?”

Impossible brat.

“Why are we friends, again?”

“Free. Cake.”

He reached for his pizza, paused, then shrugged. “Fuck it. Free cake, it is.”


	10. Talk Dirty to Me - Chuck/Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this "imagine your OTP" tumblr prompt](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/144893082817/lethalbarnes-imagine-your-otp-chuck-was). This is what happens when Raleigh unwillingly goes commando because Chuck can't be arsed to put the clothes in the dryer.

Chuck was bored. He was bored like no one had ever been bored before. His old man had, for God only knew what reason, called him in for a meeting with Mori and Tendo and the goddamn UN, but he’d yet to be so much as acknowledged. So, it was only a matter of time before he took out his phone and texted Raleigh.

_**talk dirty to me** _

Smirking, he dutifully waited for a response. Raleigh was excused from these meetings because he tended to speak his mind more freely these days. During the last one, he’d told that cheeky British fuck that until he saved the world, he could save his goddamn opinion on what the PPDC did with their money. Chuck had smirked. Mori had facepalmed. Herc had adjourned the meeting.

_**I’m not wearing any underwear** _

Oh, hey now. That sounded promising as fuck.

_**because you never put the fucking laundry in the fucking dryer like I asked you to 100 fucking times.** _

Oh. Oh, _shit._ How the hell had he forgotten something so obvious? He didn’t even have Raleigh’s excuse of brain-damage. Not that Raleigh ever excused himself for his occasional lapse of memory or vocabulary. Bloke was too hard on himself by half.

Speaking of vocabulary….

**_uh… you used the word fucking three times in that sentence. can I take that as an invitation?_ **

**_Maybe when you run the goddamn dryer when I ask you to._ **

The meeting completely forgotten, he scrambled to cover his ass. He _did_ want to get laid again sometime in the near future.

**_c’mon precious. i’ll make it up to you, yeah?_ **

**_DON’T CALL ME THAT WHEN I’M PISSED AT YOU._ **

Uh-oh. It was serious times when “precious” got shot down. This demanded a strategy.

**_i’ll bring you back a whole new package of boxer briefs. and a bag of hard candies. and a new book._ **

Radio silence. He wasn’t sure if that meant the bloke was listening or if it wasn’t worth responding. Shit.

**_raleigh, love, i’m sorry, yeah? i just forgot. i’m an asshole. let me make it up to you?_ **

**_…You have to take me out to dinner. NOT Chinese food. A real, fancy restaurant, dammit._ **

He perked up. That, he could do.

**_anything you want_ **

**_And a movie afterward. There’s that old theater they reopened that still plays reel-to-reel._ **

**_i’m in. say the word, love._ **

**_Tonight. And I get a blowjob after for going all day without clean underwear._ **

The smart-ass part of him wanted to point out the potential gross factor of blowing someone who’d gone commando all day. The rest of him wanted to get laid. And to not see Raleigh’s disappointed face.

Chuck fucking hated Raleigh’s disappointed face. He’d do anything to avoid causing it.

_**well twist my arm** _

Smirking, he put away his phone, stood up, and walked out of the meeting. Not like he’d been paying attention anyway. Herc gave him the “really, son?” look, but Mori just ignored him and continued pointing out how badly the UN had hamstrung them before they closed the Breach.

It all rolled off Chuck’s back. He had more important things to do.

Starting with buying a pack of boxer briefs. And a bag of hard candies. And a new book.

Grinning, he set about on his mission.


	11. Slip of the Tongue - Raleigh/Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this prompt](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/146778158552/hearteyesem0ji-i-tried-to-say-fuck-off-and) on Tumblr.

“I said back off.”

The wanker doesn’t back off. The wanker, in fact, gets closer still, that stupid smirk all over his stupid face. Which needs a shave. And a right jab, but that’s just Chuck’s opinion.

“Admit it, and I will.”

“I don’t have to say a goddamn thing, Becket. Now back the fuck off, or I’ll make you.”

That fucking smirk. “Admit that you rooted me and Mako on when we dropped in the harbor. Why would Herc lie?”

“Because he’s as big a wanker as you are. Last chance, now. Back. Off.”

“Your exact words were, ‘Yeah, Gipsy! Kick his ass!’, right?”

That was it. Not only was he going to beat the shit out of this wanker, but his old man, as well.

Mortification – no. ANGER suffused him, and the words all got stuck in his throat. Giving the smirking jackass a shove, he spat out the only ones that would go.

“Fuck me, asshole!”

Oh. Shit. That wasn’t… no.

Fuck off. Fight me. FUCK OFF OR FIGHT ME. That’s what he meant, goddammit, and now he had to crawl into a hole and die, not to save the world, but because what the fuck was fucking wrong with him??

Worse, Raleigh Fucking Becket’s eyebrows shot up, then furrowed together in the middle of his forehead. Before Chuck could decide whether to die on the spot or punch the wanker and run away to die in privacy, said wanker slowly, wickedly smiled.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He blinked, completely shorted out. “What?”

Leaning closer still, the smiling jackass sighed softly, the breath of it fanning Chuck’s lips and chin.

“You could’ve just said you wanted me, Chuck.” That fucking smile would be the death of him. “I’m happy to oblige.”

A kiss.

A giant blinding lightbulb over his head.

And Chuck Hansen was officially a goner.


	12. Tag, You're It - Chuck/Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this other prompt](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/146167237057/otpmusings-halleydoedog-take-me-laser) on Tumblr about laser tag and corners. I can't help it! Tumblr torments me so!

“Chuck, this is stupid. We’ve piloted jaegers. This isn’t even a challenge!”

“Scared, Raaaaleigh? Afraid I’ll kick your ass like I did in Monopoly last night?”

“You didn’t win! I was tired! It was, like, 2 AM!”

“Pssh. You’re an insomniac. Don’t act like you would’ve been asleep anyway.”

“…”

“C’mon. Let’s do this.”

“Ha! Missed!”

“Fuck you, Ray. The sights are off or someth–OI!”

“Dammit. You’re quicker than I thought.”

“Ha! Wait, don’t–”

“STAND STILL!”

“THAT DEFEATS THE WHOLE PURPOSE, ASSHOLE!”

“What are you… Chuck, no–OW. Why are we in the corn–mmph!”

*gross kissing noises*

“Mmm, Chuck, what–” *lasers go off* “SERIOUSLY??”

“I win.” *walks away*

“You are SUCH AN ASSHOLE.”


	13. Just Sittin in This Fuzzy Chair, Mindin My Own Business - Chuck & Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you see a picture, and a story happens without any other prompt. [That's what happened here.](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/149344208232/xerosky-heh-so-fuzzy-he-had-to-come-up)
> 
> Chuck can explain why he's in an abandoned warehouse, sitting in a fuzzy yellow chair surrounded by lit candles, in his underwear. He really can.
> 
> He just doesn't want to.

He had to come up with _something_. The truth was too stupid to tell. Raleigh would never believe it. The fuzzy yellow chair was bad enough, but how the hell did he explain his clothes?

Or the lack thereof?

God help him figuring out how to hide the candles. Wasn’t like he had pockets. And no, they wouldn’t all fit up his ass, Mental Elvis. SHUT UP.

_Think, dammit._

If he knew Becket, the wanker was already on the way and none too pleased about being called out into the cold to give his rival a ride back to the ‘dome. Worse, the bloke wouldn’t have to say a word. He’d just give him that look. That flat “This is me still not giving a shit about your bullshit” look. He fucking _hated_ that look.

Too bad he saw it practically every day.

Maybe he could say he was robbed. Wouldn’t explain the candles, though. Or the chair. Why the fuck was it yellow and fuzzy? And why the fuck were the candles all lit? That was NOT in the note, dammit. Goddamn Weis could fuck up a wet dream.

His instructions had been perfectly clear: hotel room, good light source, adjustable mirror, DIY tattoo gun.

Yet here he sat in an abandoned warehouse office with a fuzzy yellow chair, a fuckton of lit candles, no tattoo gun, no mirror, and _no fucking clothes._

Maybe he shouldn’t have started swearing at them before he even opened the door for apparently not knowing the difference between a shitty hotel and a shitty falling-down warehouse. At the very least, he shouldn’t have trusted the narrow-eyed looks the triplets shot each other when he headed for the defunct washroom in his boxer briefs to sanitize his hands before so much as loading the ink.

The sneaky fucks would probably call it retribution. All Chuck knew was that he didn’t dare call his old man, who’d want to know why he didn’t just go to a shop for some new ink, and Mori would laugh at him, and Elvis would tell everyone he came across. Likely with pictures. Maybe even video.

That left Becket, which was a whole new level of sad.

And Chuck still had no idea how to explain the situation.

And his time was up, because he’d have to be deaf to not hear the outer door swing open and bang closed, the bloke’s heavy boots thudding and scraping through the gravelly scree in the hallway.

Sighing, he faced the music. “In here, Becket.”

At the very least, he wanted to have a perfect view of the wanker’s expression when he walked through the door, so he shifted the chair a bit and slumped over, his chin in his hand. He wasn’t disappointed.

Raleigh strolled through the door with a frown, sure, but that fell away almost instantly, along with the poor sod’s jaw. Despite himself, Chuck smirked wryly.

"...Chuck?”

“Couldn’t explain it if I tried, mate. Just need a ride back to the ‘dome, yeah?”

The bloke blinked, closed his mouth, opened it again, then closed it and shook his head. “Are you hurt?”

Oddly enough, the question didn’t rankle. In fact, Chuck couldn’t help but feel... it was....

_Dammit, Raleigh._

“I’m fine. Just... didn’t want anyone to catch me like this.” He shrugged, trying to look casual. “Anyone else, anyway. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Finally, the surprise bled away on a slow grin. “Should I ask?”

He winced. “Rather you didn’t.”

The bloke nodded, and it suddenly occurred to Chuck that, for someone he’d determinedly alienated, Becket was being a lot more accommodating than Chuck would’ve been if the tables were turned.

“Want my coat?”

He brightened. “You don’t mind?”

The grin turned into a smirk, but the silly sod was already shrugging out of the heavy jacket, so Chuck didn’t take offense. It wouldn’t cover his legs, and he’d still be wandering about barefoot until he tracked down those triplet bastards and got his fucking boots back, but it was infinitely better than being borderline naked.

Plus, the bloke must put out heat like a wood furnace because the inside of the coat was downright cozy with warmth.

“Thanks, mate. ‘Preciate it.”

Without a single snark, the bloke lead the way to the hallway. Chuck didn’t bother blowing out the candles. As far as he was concerned, the place could burn to the ground.

Unfortunately, there was a goodly amount of broken glass mixed in with the general dirt and grit and gravel scattered over the hallway floor, and he didn’t get halfway out before something sliced into his heel.

“Ow, fuck! Goddammit!”

Becket caught him by the arm so he didn’t fall over, but he left Chuck to pull out the little wedge of glass himself. Before he could debate whether it’d be better to go back to the washroom and see if there were any old plasters lying about or to tiptoe out of the place so he at least didn’t get any more filth in the wound, the bloke turned his back to him and crouched.

Groaning, Chuck debated protesting, then grudgingly admitted that the wanker really had no reason to offer him a piggyback ride and was being more than a good sport about the whole thing. So, instead of snarking, he silently wrapped his arms around the bloke’s neck and moved with him as he stood up and hooked his arms under Chuck’s thighs.

And still, Becket didn’t ask.

So, once he’d settled in the Jeep’s passenger seat with the first aid kit the bloke dug out from the back somewhere and Raleigh had eased them into the hectic bustle of Hong Kong traffic, Chuck sighed.

“I wanted to give myself a tattoo. Asked the Weis to help me out.” He huffed, tossing aside an alcohol wipe and sorting through the plasters for one the right size. “That was my first mistake.”

“Mm.”

He shot a look at the bloke, but Becket didn’t look smug. Just focused on the traffic and listening.

“You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just go to a regular shop.”

The bloke shrugged and switched lanes.

“Wanted to do this one myself.” Swallowing, he settled the plaster just so, then concentrated on putting everything back in its place. “Had it in mind for a while. Couldn’t find a place that had... the look I wanted.”

“Style _is_ important.”

Another glance, then he turned to drop the kit into the back. “’Specially when it’s your mum’s name.”

He didn’t know what he expected. He hadn’t meant to say it at all. But... something about the bloke not asking made him want to tell.

Finally, Raleigh nodded without looking away from the other vehicles crushing around them. “I wouldn’t let anyone else put Yancy’s name on me, either.”

Unable to look at the bloke who’d been far nicer than Chuck deserved, he nodded and swallowed hard. Maybe that’s why he’d said it.

Because if anyone understood the power of a loved one’s name, it was Raleigh Fucking Becket.

And when they got back to the ‘dome and Raleigh saw him to his bunk so Chuck didn’t have to streak through the whole place, Chuck knew without asking that his secret was safe. No one would ever know.

And when the Weis had to requisition entirely new clothing allowances because their entire wardrobes had mysteriously disappeared in the night –- right down to their socks –- and the marshal interrogated him as to who the hell his accomplice was because he sure as hell couldn’t have done it himself, well....

Chuck would never tell.

Some things were just sacred like that.


	14. Two Men and a Library - Chuck/Raleigh & Mako

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this "imagine your OTP" prompt](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/159585713332/yoonminxtaekook-so-i-was-at-the-library-and-i).
> 
> Mako doesn't have to know Raleigh to know he's an adorable little shit. And she doesn't have to know Chuck to know he's an arrogant jerk with a short fuse.
> 
> Imagine her surprise when she finds out Raleigh has balls of titanium and Chuck has a heart of gold.

Mako didn't know too many people in the States yet, but she'd seen the almost annoyingly bouncy, broad-shouldered blonde guy in the university library enough times that she'd finally started answering his cheery waves with a small nod and hint of a smile. He'd probably never know it, but to her, the exchange meant she almost considered him a friend, though she hadn't yet worked up to asking his name.

Seemed like a nice enough guy, though.

But the red-head. Oh, the red-head.

The real piece of work was in the library almost as often as the chipper blonde, though they seemed to exist in opposing spectrums. As far as she could tell, Red seemed to solely haunt the desk closest to the section on engineering and robotics texts, where Blondie migrated from ancient literature to children's lit to World War II texts to archaeology, never seeming fixed on any one subject for more than a week or two.

But sometimes. On rare occasion. Sometimes, Blondie would sit across from Red and just stare smilingly at him, as if daring him to look up and keep looking vaguely pissed at the world for existing.

Mako lived for the day Red actually did look up. At this point, she wasn't sure the guy wasn't deaf and/or blind. Or just had really good earbuds and absolutely no spatial awareness.

Thus, she didn't get her hopes up too high when Blondie bounced over to the otherwise abandoned table spread with open books and various papers and writing tools and an open laptop. She turned part of her attention that way, to be sure, but she doubted the status quo would change.

Her surprise (and delight) was complete, then, when Blondie suddenly yelled, “CHUCK, I LOVE YOU! NO HOMO, THOUGH!!”

It echoed in the sudden quieter-than-library-quiet silence as everyone in the entire building paused to look. Mako held her breath, waiting to see what Red would do. Because Red – Chuck? – hadn't yet moved.

Then, while Blondie sat there radiating both amusement and clear nervousness, Red Chuck finally sighed heavily and looked up.

“Ray. We've literally been dating for a month now.”

The resulting gasps from every corner should have sucked all the oxygen from the room, but Mako didn't blame them. She did, however, laugh instead of gasp.

Mostly because Blondie Ray merely shrugged, smiled sappily, and said, “Just wanted to see if you'd admit it in public.”

An eyeroll from Red Chuck. “You are such an asshole.”

“And you love me.” The sappiest of sappy smiles. “No homo, though.”

Chuck snorted. “I don't think you know what that phrase means.”

But Ray’s smile was undiminished, even when he suddenly turned it Mako's direction and... winked.

He really was an asshole. Red was right about that.

But that didn't stop her from winking back.

Then and there, she decided that yes, they were friends. Now that she knew his name.

Rolling her eyes to herself, she supposed that counted Red Chuck, too.

Next time, she thought she might actually talk to them.

Maybe.


	15. The Kiss Master - Raleigh/Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quickie I threw out based on [this awesome fanart by pfaerie!](http://pfaerie.tumblr.com/post/163788751338/hello-ive-been-stalking-ur-chaleigh-stuff-and-it)

They spent a bit more time together these days. It was awkward at first -- Herc glared at the both of them after yet another shouty snark match in the cafeteria that led to a stand-off involving more forks than were strictly necessary and told them to sort their shit or he'd kick their sorry asses out -- and neither of them really put their backs into it.

But the marshal had spoken, and though neither of them were very good order-takers, they both massively respected the oldest living jaeger pilot in the world. And feared he wasn't bluffing about importing huntsman spiders to put in their beds if they didn't knock off the shit.

Thus, though it had taken weeks of awkward proximity, they at least managed more snark than shouting these days, and the rest of the shatterdome heaved a sigh of universal relief.

Which, of course, was when it all went pear-shaped. And caught on fire, probably.

It was all Mako's fault. She was the one who put the thought in Raleigh's head. He'd swear she did it on purpose, too.

"I only asked how long it has been since you were... intimate with someone. It's not a trick question. I am simply curious."

His eyes narrowed. "Why."

"Because my therapist and I have been working through my memories of the Drift, and it occurred to me that I have no memory of you having any close relationships since...." Her mouth shut abruptly, and she lowered her head. "Forgive me."

Dammit. Now he _had_ to talk about it.

"It's okay, Mako." It wasn't, but he would never say that. "But you gotta admit; I didn't have much to offer anyone, considering I wasn't even sure how much of myself I had left."

"Raleigh--"

"And I still don't. Not really." He forced a smile that couldn't possibly look cheery. "It's... that's not for me. Not anymore."

She watched him closely, then smiled softly until his own smile felt more real. "That is a shame." The smile turned impish, her eyes sparkling. "I seem to remember that you thought yourself a very good kisser."

A laugh jumped out of him. "Jesus, Mako! You're like my sister!"

Laughing herself, she turned away with a wave. "That didn't stop Chuck and I from trying it when we were children."

The laugh dried up, and he gawped like an idiot. "WHAT??"

Her laughter, merry and bright, led her away and out of sight. Weirdly grossed out, he couldn't help but watch her go and try to ignore the image in his mind.

Gross.

It didn't help when Chuck showed up to their rules-heavy spar in that stupid coat, even though it wasn't remotely cold. The brat still showed off his kaiju tallies -- and had added three, as if he'd killed those last kaiju on his own -- with more than the required amount of pride, that stupid smug-ass smirk proving he knew how petty it was and did not care.

Irritated at both his inability to focus on anything but Mako having some weird experience of kissing both of them and Chuck's constant aura of Better Than, Raleigh couldn't stop himself.

"I can't believe you kissed Mako."

For one beautiful, shining moment, Chuck Hansen was knocked off his stride, that smirk wiped away as his jaw dropped. "I what now?"

Embarrassed to have even brought it up, he fiddled with the hem of his sweater and grumbled. "When you were kids. What the fuck, man? You guys were practically siblings at that point."

"Jesus, mate." Chuck looked... appalled. "What the hell brought this up?"

Nothing in existence could drag Raleigh's lack of a social life from him. Unfortunately, that left pretty much no explanation for how the subject had cropped up in the first place. Frustrated and wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut, he crossed his arms, glared at the floor, and grumbled.

"Oi, ya wanker, if you want her, she's yours. We were just kids, for fuck's sake. It didn't mean anything."

"No, I don't--" Grunting, he glared at the ceiling instead of the floor. "I don't want to date her, for fuck's sake. She's my _sister._ I just... ugh, fuck. Never mind. Let's just get this over with."

Because these spars were not normal spars. Actual contact was strictly forbidden. Otherwise, the first bo-touch could very well initiate a full-on brawl that would land them both in the infirmary.

It had happened before.

More than once.

Thus, the ridiculously strict and specific list of rules they'd grudgingly agreed to before the marshal lifted the ban against them sparring. It was weirdly challenging, but... somewhat fun, too.

But Chuck made no move to take off his coat. Instead, he smirked again and crossed his arms. "You jealous, mate?"

Grunting, he quit fiddling with his sweater and moved to take it off. "Of what?"

"That Mako kissed me."

He paused, frowned, then gave the brat his full attention. "I'm sorry?"

"Just sayin', mate." Ugh, that fucking smirk. "If you're not jealous of me, you must be jealous of Mako."

Completely lost, he stared.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Do you want to kiss me or what?"

An inarticulate noise somewhere between a cough and a grunt jumped out of him. He didn't even have a word. He was... affronted? Gob-smacked? Appalled?

...Curious?

Since he had no idea, he took refuge in affront. It seemed... safer. "Fuck off, Chuck. If you're that hard-up, go talk to Mako." Somehow, he managed a smirk he wasn't sure he felt. "If nothing else, she'll actually be able to tell us who's a better kisser since you're not kids anymore."

"Oi! You just said she's your sister, ya sick fuck!"

Rolling his eyes -- and finally on better mental footing -- he sighed. "She has memories from the Drift, dumbass. She said earlier that she remembers me being a damn good kisser."

_Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask--_

"Oh." It took a moment, but the smug came flooding back, and the giant ginger jerk crossed his arms again. "Bet ya I'm the better kisser, Ray."

His eyes rolled without asking for permission, and he opened his mouth to snark. Unfortunately... the stupid snark... stuck.

He could just ask Mako, of course. She might tease him at first, but if he really wanted to know, she'd tell him.

But... it had been a damn long time... and that was a borderline dare.

So.

A smirk to match Chuck's quirked his mouth without his permission. "Prove it."

It was Chuck's turn to be gob-smacked/appalled/bumfuzzled, and it was glorious. The kid clearly hadn't expected Raleigh to call his bluff, if bluff it had been.

The smirk widened.

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. "Get over here, then."

He blinked.

Shit. There was that fucking smirk again. "Oi, now you're chicken? All talk and no action? Guess I really am the better kisser, then." A snort. "Pity."

Fuck all that noise.

Like that first punch in the hallway, like every first punch Raleigh had ever thrown, he just acted.

Two strides, and they were chest to chest. He started to go in hard and strong, then... gently touched the kid's face, instead. For whatever reason -- likely because Chuck always expected a fight -- it worked, and Chuck's mouth opened just slightly on a quick intake of breath. Closing his eyes, Raleigh lightly touched his lips to Chuck's, a bare brush of silk, and sighed.

That big body trembled, tensing... but not pulling away.

Taking that as at least a temporary affirmation, he pressed an actual kiss on those slightly open lips. Just a taste. As chaste as if they had only just met. Stroking his thumb lightly along Chuck's stubbled jaw, he kissed again, still chaste and sweet, and...

...there. Chuck kissed back. Just as soft. Just as sweet.

Hmming quietly, Raleigh let himself remember what it meant to be close to someone, physically and intimately. It had been so long. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the simple touch of skin, the stroke of a hand, the feeling of a heartbeat next to his own. The sigh of someone else's breath against his face.

It was intoxicating.

It seemed Chuck thought so, too, because he kissed back just as slow, just as... reverent. Yes, that was the word. There was a certain reverence in the gentle stroke of Raleigh's thumb on Chuck's jaw, in the soft nibble on his lower lip, in the warmth of Chuck's hand as it rested on Raleigh's lower back.

This was supposed to be a competition, and for two men as impulsive and headstrong as them, it should've been all teeth and struggle and physicality. But it wasn't. It was just... sweet.

And after a timeless, quiet, warm moment, it was over.

Raleigh's eyes blinked open, and he smiled a bit when he realized Chuck's eyes were still closed. Stupidly long eyelashes. Freckles scattered on pale skin. A line of scar over the nose from their stupid hallway fight. Beautiful.

Then, those ridiculous ginger lashes blinked open, and Raleigh was struck dumb with the hazy bliss in those usually bright grey eyes.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Would they abruptly realize what they'd done and jump away, embarrassed? Would Chuck throw a punch and stalk off in a huff?

He sort of hated those thoughts. After such a surprising display of tenderness from both of them, he shouldn't be worried about violence or anger.

But they were who they were, so he braced for the worst.

Then, blinking slowly, Chuck smiled. "We'll call it a tie, yeah?"

Relief so sharp it almost hurt swept through him, and he smiled like a fucking moron. "Or we could... maybe... rematch? Until one of us wins?"

Hazy eyes heated even as that fucking smirk showed itself again. Strangely enough, Raleigh didn't hate it quite so much this time.

"You're on, mate."

Smirking himself, he tilted his chin up. "Bring it, Hansen."

And, never one to back down from a challenge, Chuck brought it.


	16. Funny Like a Rubber Crutch - Raleigh & Chuck & Mako

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this [Tumblr prompt.](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/161264553227/robertkazinsky-replied-to)

Raleigh had never seen Mako pale with rage before. He'd seen her taking down kaiju. He'd seen her nurse her need for vengeance for her family.

But he'd never seen her like this.

So... maybe they'd gone a little too far.

"You think you're funny?" Her voice, usually so tranquil that even Chuck was calmed by it, thrummed with suppressed emotion. "Do you?"

Shooting a glance at Chuck -- who looked as embarrassed and chastened as Raleigh had ever hoped to see him because, Jesus, neither of them ever thought she'd trace it directly to them -- he shrugged. "I mean... it's a little funny, right?"

Eyes narrow and blazing, she slapped the offending picture down on the table between their dinner trays, face up so they could take in the full details. It had taken _hours_ to get the angle just right to hide their faces while showing everything else. Even longer for Chuck to sneak past all of Tendo's security to screen-grab it from the security feeds without alerting anyone else to it.

But oh, was it worth it. Despite all the snickering they'd done, trying to paw at each other realistically to get just the right debauched look. Despite the very real claw marks he'd left on Chuck's bare back that showed up beautifully in high-def. Despite Raleigh nearly dislocating a hip to get his leg hitched up around Chuck’s shoulder like that.

Despite the awkward hint of a boner he'd done his best to kill because, joke or no joke, Chuck felt like a living, breathing Greek statue writhing more than half-naked between his legs for however long it took them to make it look just right.

So worth it for the look on Mako's face right now.

Because under the blazing fury, the pale face was slowly turning pink, the fury wavering under growing embarrassment as she glanced down at the faux-explicit picture they'd printed off on high-grade, glossy photo paper and left on her desk in her room. How the hell had she immediately known it was them? Neither of their faces were visible, and for all that the picture was clear as a bell, it was in crisp black and white, so it's not like Chuck’s ginger hair gave them away.

Unfortunately, the crisp black and white... oddly enough... only made it hotter.

Now Raleigh was blushing.

Chuck's face, he saw at a glance, was damn near on fire.

Then, Mako cleared her throat and backed away, the picture still on the table between them. "I'll tell you what's funny."

Frowning now, Raleigh eyed her suspiciously. That was a new tone. He'd never heard that tone, not in any of her memories.

"It's funny that I had Tendo roll back the security tape to find out who did it."

His mouth went dry. Chuck tensed on the other side of the table.

"It's funny that we watched the whole thing. Without sound."

Oh, shit. Without sound, it would look very much like--

"It's funny that he made a copy and sent it to the marshal."

Chuck paled so suddenly that Raleigh feared he'd pass out. Honestly, Raleigh couldn't blame him. He felt pretty goddamn pale himself.

"Yes." She smiled serenely, her voice mellow with its usual tranquility. "That is funny."

With a nod, she walked away.

And Raleigh... could only sit there in silence, feeling the doom gather around him, counting the minutes until Herc Hansen strolled all up into the cafeteria and killed himself a Becket for debauching his precious son.

Ha. Funny.

Jesus, he was in so much trouble.


	17. Say That You Love Me - Raleigh/Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this Tumblr prompt.](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/161263719277/susan-25-replied-to-your-post)

"You love me... right?"

Chuck frowned, not sure he'd heard right. Turning his head, he stared at the weird bloke he'd somehow let talk him onto the roof of the shatterdome to stare at the stupid stars. Admittedly, it was a nice night -- clear for miles, cool but not cold, the breeze crisp with the tang of the ocean, the sky deep and black and bright.

"The fuck are you on about, mate? You talking in your sleep again?"

What? They'd fallen asleep on one or the other's bed a few times whilst watching old movies. Didn't mean a damn thing.

After a long, increasingly awkward moment of silence, Raleigh finally let his head loll over to look Chuck in the eye.

"Sometimes, I think you're just fucking around with me. Just killing time with the has-been until something better comes along. And that's why you keep yourself so goddamn closed off."

Jesus. They were not having this conversation. It was just... passing the time, dammit.

"Other times, you look at me like you want to scrape me off the bottom of your boot, and I wonder what the fuck ever made me think I'd mean a goddamn thing to you besides an expendable part of a world-saving machine that just happened to outlive its usefulness."

_Raleigh. Mate, don't--_

"But sometimes... just sometimes... I catch this look... and I think maybe...."

Sighing, obviously not seeing whatever he wanted to see, the wanker turned his dark, resigned gaze back up to the sky.

"Never mind. Yeah, I'm talking in my sleep."

Goddamn Raleigh Fucking Becket. Never fucking satisfied. Couldn't fucking be happy with movie marathons and takeout. With sparring that felt a helluva lot more like kids playing than serious blokes fighting for points. With long conversations that lasted long after the supper crew cleaned up and left them alone in the caf.

With lying on the roof and looking at the stars, like he used to with his dead, lovingly mourned brother.

No. The rotten sod wanted _feelings,_ too.

And Chuck....

Sighing, Chuck admitted -- to himself only -- that he had the emotional stability and maturity of a hungry honey badger. The personality of one, too.

Though his hygiene was, thankfully, better.

"Raleigh...."

"Forget it, Chuck. I didn't say a thing."

Forget sighing. That was a full-on grunt. Enough to roll him to one side and prop himself up on an elbow to look down on that carefully shuttered expression.

"Fuck that, mate. I don't know a goddamn thing about love. Not sure I ever have, if I'm honest."

Blue eyes, dark either from the night humming around them or from whatever overly-emotional thoughts were spiraling around that pretty head, rolled. "Yeah. That, I know."

"Oi, fuck off. I'm trying to make a statement here."

Thankfully, the wanker snorted away some of the carefulness and actually looked at him. A hint of a smirk pulled at one corner of the silly sod's mouth.

"I just... I like... this." Awkward again, he gestured vaguely between them. "No reason to fuck up a good thing, yeah?"

Because he would. Given an opportunity -- _half_ an opportunity -- Chuck would find some way to blow it up and chase the bloke away. Or be too clingy because he'd never had anyone that didn't slip through his fingers somehow. Except for Max, of course. And Max wouldn't live forever.

Not helping.

Suddenly, Raleigh rolled to his side, too, propping himself on his elbow to put them on an even level. It was... different. Too much, all of a sudden.

Chuck wanted to pull away, both from the sudden closeness and from the entire conversation.

Unfortunately, Raleigh Fucking Becket took that exact moment to smirk. "What? You scared, Hansen?"

_Fuck yes, I am._

A snort. "No. And shut up."

Closer, and blonde eyelashes -- who the fuck had lashes that long? -- lowered, half-covering those stupidly pretty blue eyes. "Make me."

He licked his lips. He couldn't help it. He suddenly felt dry as the desert. "I'm not fucking scared."

Another flutter of those goddamn eyelashes. "I am."

Well, fuck. They couldn't have that, could they?

And yeah. It probably had taken one fuck of a lot of courage to bring up the subject.

Maybe... the silly sausage deserved... a reward.

Chuck had thought a lot about those lips. Not all the way in the front of his mind, of course. Just... snatches of thought. The occasional flash of their shape whilst he showered. Curiosity if they were as plump as they looked. As warm. How they tasted.

Now, with his own lips pressed against them, they were the only thing on his mind. Warm and firm, slightly open, a bit sweet from the hard sweets the bloke kept in his pockets.

Goddamn perfect.

"Yeah, mate."

The kisses barely paused for what was little more than a breath with a hint of voice behind it, but Raleigh heard.

"Yeah, what?"

Blushing, he nudged the big idiot over onto his back and slumped down over him, hiding his overheated face in the curve of the wanker's neck.

"You know what."

A low hmm that thrummed against his cheek.

"Yeah. I know."

Muttering, Chuck squirmed closer, grumbling and cursing the entire time, until he was perfectly comfortable. Raleigh, wanker that he was, smirked the whole time but didn't say a word.

He didn't have to.

Thankfully, neither did Chuck.


	18. Don't Be Cruel - Raleigh/Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this Tumblr prompt.](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/161297983162/for-the-four-word-prompts-dont-be-fucking-rude)

"Uh... why are we doing this again?"

"Because my old man thinks I'm withering on the goddamn vine, so I told him we were engaged, and now he wants proof."

Raleigh blinked, pulling out of the near-choke-hold which hadn't been very conducive to looking blissfully in love with his cranky but entertaining downstairs neighbor. "Um. No. That's not okay. Chuck, what the hell?"

"Oi, relax." As usual, Hansen was completely oblivious to nuance and hooked his arm around Raleigh's neck again, dragging him close enough for a (bad) selfie. "Not like he'd fly all the way here to check. It's just to shut him up."

Luckily, Raleigh wasn't one to be easily physically dominated and removed himself from the choke-hold with extreme prejudice. Extreme enough prejudice that Chuck ended up on his ass on the floor, confused and rubbing his shoulder, which had been wrenched damn near out of the socket because he was too stubborn to just fucking stop already.

Raleigh, on the other hand, didn't have a mark on him and stood over his fallen neighbor with a smirk.

"One of these days, you'll learn."

The confusion faded under irritation as the shoulder-rubbing switched to nape-rubbing. "Didn't know you were so goddamn touchy. Thought we were mates, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes, he resumed his laid-back sprawl on the couch, his head pillowed on one cushy arm and his feet propped up on the opposite one. "It wasn't the choke-hold that pissed me off. You could avoid faking a boyfriend -- a fiance! -- by just... ya know... actually dating. Why lie to your dad like that?"

The kid grumbled, scruffing the rubbing hand up through his hair before slumping and looking away. "Not had much luck at dating. Got no patience for bullshit, and first dates are damn near 100% bullshit."

He couldn't help but snicker. He probably knew Chuck Hansen better than anyone in the States, but that wasn't saying much. The kid was standoffish at best and an outright jackass at worst. Yancy couldn't stand him -- though he loved Raleigh's high-comedy re-tellings of their conversations -- and Tendo had avoided him ever since The Infamous Hair Incident that neither of them would talk about.

There may have been blood. There had definitely been a weird smell that took over a week to fade.

But that simple statement about how the kid saw dating was Chuck Hansen right down to the ground. The little -- okay, not so little, considering he was the same height as Raleigh and probably had a good ten to twenty pounds more muscle on that broad frame -- bastard had no use for anything that smacked of sugar-coating or pandering, and his list of things that did so included politeness, idle chitchat, saying hello to anyone he didn't know or didn't like, making any positive observation that wasn't surprised out of him, or pretty much any human social interaction beyond the occasional grunt if someone accidentally bumped him in the street.

It had taken three weeks to get so much as an eyeroll from the anti-social jerk in the downstairs apartment and another three weeks to get an actual hello. Raleigh still thought he'd only managed that because the kid had clearly been suffering a hangover from hell and it just slipped out.

So yeah. Dating was probably... not happening.

Maybe the kid's "old man" was right to worry about his son withering on the vine, as it were.

But... fake engagement pictures? He had the worst feeling this would bite them both in the ass so hard that it wouldn't even be fun. Just humiliating to explain to an ER doctor later.

"What if he wants to meet me?"

Oh, shit. The big jerk looked up with so much burgeoning hope that Raleigh would have fallen off the couch if he wasn't already lying down. Goddamn adorable piece of goods, for all that he was an absolute shit.

"He won't. He'll be too damn happy to have a picture to show everyone to question it too close."

This was such a bad idea. Yance would never let him live it down. Tendo might disown him.

Rolling his eyes, he gave into the inevitable. The kid had dimples. How was that not cheating?

"Ugh, Jesus, fine. Take the damn picture and leave me alone. If he flies all the way from Australia just to kick my ass for deflow-- _UGH!”_

The asshole jumped on him, full body, driving all the air out of him in a painful grunt, gave him a brutally tight and mercifully quick hug, then rolled to his back and settled his legs between Raleigh's, his broad back blanketing Raleigh's chest.

Wheezing, he shoved at the ginger hair tickling his nose, since waving at the spots in his vision as he tried to get his air back would probably be bad form. "Jesus, kid. What the hell are you made of? Osmium? I think my spleen just shot out my nose."

"Oi, don't be fucking rude." Squirming, the heavy bastard apparently achieved perfect comfort and pulled out his cell phone. "You're pretty and your knowledge of materials of insane density is hot and all, but you're a dick."

Absurdly, the words "pretty" and "hot" shut him right the hell up. It was a foregone conclusion that someone as blunt as Chuck had little use for compliments and never bothered with them. That he'd used two... about _Raleigh..._ right next to each other and everything....

"Yeah. Keep looking just like that."

He could only blink as Chuck flipped the screen and he saw himself looking almost stupid with pleased surprise. And Chuck... well, Chuck looked smug as fuck, but weirdly soft with it, like he was actually pretty damn chuffed to be lying on Raleigh's chest, posing for a selfie with his supposed fiance.

Damn if it didn't make for a convincing picture.

Herc -- because of course Chuck Fucking Hansen's father was named after a goddamn mythological hero -- never once questioned it. Turned out, he didn't have to.

Yancy was displeased. For a while. Until Raleigh explained, red-faced and sweating, how it all came about. Then he found the whole situation hilarious.

Tendo didn't forgive him until he got to make a speech at the wedding. During which he gleefully told the highly-exaggerated story to the entire party.

It went over surprisingly well.


	19. Join Me - Chuck & Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this lovely list of Tumblr prompts:](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/164575815017/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt)
> 
>  
> 
> _Leave a “Join Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character giving another character an offer [be it a proposal for an alliance, asking them to join them in an activity (you can get dirty if you want), feel free to specify.]_

"So... will you?"

"No."

Raleigh grumbled and kicked at the floor, hands buried in his pockets. "What's a guy gotta do?"

"Fuck off, ya wanker. I'm busy."

Indeed, Chuck was elbow-deep in jaeger grease from dismantling Crimson Typhoon's foot. The big Australian jerk was also clearly exhausted from running himself to the bone. It was hard to watch the kid work himself nigh to death, even if he was a jerk.

So he and Mako had put their heads together and devised a plan. A plan Chuck The Jerk was currently ignoring with a vengeance.

"Not even once?"

"Fuck. Off."

His jaw clenched, and he was tempted to do just that. And never come back. And not give one tin shit for the asshole who refused all overtures of friendship and all offers of help with a shoulder so cold it could freeze him at twenty paces. If he dared to get even that close.

Unfortunately, just as he started to pivot away, he caught the quickest, almost imperceptible glance from narrowed eyes.

Chuck The Jerk was listening.

"One game. That's all I'm asking."

That big body tightened.

"Join me?"

The moment stretched out, Chuck practically throbbing over there and Raleigh twitching with both dread and anticipation over here.

Finally: "What's so fucking great about Risk, then?"

A smile that couldn't possibly look either innocent or enticing stretched his face.

"Chuck... you're about to fucking find out."

Ignoring the accepted space between them, he ran over and grabbed the big jerk by the arm. A desperately needed shower could wait.

World conquest... could not.


	20. Love Me - Raleigh/Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this list of Tumblr prompts:](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/164575815017/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt)
> 
> _Leave a “Love Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a fluffy drabble about two (or more) characters._

When the (possibly radioactive) dust settled and everyone finally got out of medical -- well, not Stacker; the brush with a nuke had a weird effect on the cancer already brewing, and the doctors couldn't figure out if it had helped or hurt -- Chuck found himself at loose ends for the first time in his life. Well, for the first time in memory, anyway.

Just... he'd always had The Next Thing to do. The next repair on Striker. The next kaiju alarm. The next fight with his old man. The next game of catch with Max. The next food fight to start with the Weis.

Not that the Weis were up for a food fight these days. They were all out of medical, but there was oh, so much physical therapy to be done before the wankers had that much mobility.

Anyway, Chuck Hansen was a doer, not a sit-and-think-about-things-er. If he was honest -- and he was trying to be now that there was nothing but time to regret the ignorant shite he tended to spout in anger -- he was... bored.

And more than a little scared.

What the hell did people... just... do? For the rest of their lives?

Oddly enough, on his worst possible day, just when he'd given up trying to soul-search and decided to punch the big bag until all the sand fell out, Raleigh Has-Been Becket showed up. With a vengeance.

Suddenly, there weren't enough hours in the day. Chuck had a sneaking suspicion it all started with a prompt from Herc, but it wasn't long -- a week; a month, tops -- before Chuck didn't care. He was having too much fun.

They hit the mainland almost every day for take-out or to watch new buildings go up on the bones of the old or, once, to take one of the junks out to the islands for an honest-to-fuck picnic. The silly bloke said it was up to their teamwork that the traditional boats were out again for the first time in a decade, so they ought to be one of the first to enjoy them. With that rationale, Chuck was hard-pressed to argue and found himself, for the first time in his life, kicking back with a gentle breeze in his face, lulled by the subtle rocking of the junk, idly watching their particular island draw closer with no urgency to get to The Next Thing.

Admittedly, The Next Thing this time was a frankly embarrassing array of foods that Raleigh had insisted on cramming into a massive picnic basket he'd haggled off a street vendor. _It's nostalgia, Chuck,_ the silly sod insisted. _It's not a picnic without a basket._

Again, Chuck had been hard-pressed to argue. He was having too damn much fun.

It had been a damn long time since "fun" was in his vocabulary.

And then, there were movie nights. Sometimes just the two of them, sometimes everyone still mobile. Sometimes with pizza or Chinese food, sometimes just with popcorn and beer. Sometimes comedies, sometimes action flicks, and just the once... a romance.

He couldn't remember what it was called, but Raleigh said it was based on an old book, it was long as hell but seemed to go ridiculously fast, and Mako (and, weirdly, Herc) fucking loved it. Chuck had to admit that the oppressive atmosphere while the naive young governess discovered that the evil in the attic wasn't anything supernatural but just her cranky boss' addled wife was impressive. And he pretended not to see Herc wipe his eyes during the governess' flashbacks of her brief love affair with the cranky boss.

In fact, he rather understood. The poor sheila just wanted, for once, to be seen as an equal. To not be a drudge or a colorless creature to be pitied or ignored or looked down on. Of _course_ her memories of the one person who treated her like a human being would be full of pain and longing.

Dammit.

Because there was a downside to all the fun and running about. Raleigh, that giant wanker of a has-been, would probably never know, but Chuck had come to... depend on it. Like it. Love it, even.

And at any moment, it could just... stop.

He didn't want it to stop.

"C'mon, Chuck." A foot nudged him under the rather sticky table. "You've been brooding all day. Out with it."

They were at some rank-looking hole-in-the-wall, eating mouth-watering Indian food that would taste like heaven if Chuck could manage to eat a bite. He'd never know how Raleigh kept finding these places, but he wasn't exactly complaining.

This time, though....

Sighing, he shrugged with an elbow on the table and his cheek leaning on his fist, toying his fork through his butter chicken sauce.

"Chuck. Seriously. Do you not like the naan or something?"

Another shrug. He couldn't stop thinking about how echoey and heart-wrenching the poor girl's sobs were as she fully remembered all she had left behind, all she felt she couldn't have.

He could relate to that last bit.

"Hey, c'mon. You're starting to worry me. There's still food on the table."

That got at least one side of his mouth to twitch in a half-ass grin, and he put down his fork to sit up a bit straighter. "Dread days, indeed."

But Raleigh finally cracked a smile, which never failed to lift Chuck's spirits.

Dammit.

"So lay it out for me. What's going on in that complicated head of yours?"

Nope. Not for all the Indian food in Hong Kong.

"Chuck."

Never.

"Chuuuuuuuuuuck."

_Goddammit, Raleigh._

"Chuck chuck chuck chuck chuck chuck chuck ch--"

"Do you think you could ever love me?"

What. The. Fuck.

Appalled at himself, he slapped both palms on the table, sitting stick straight in the creaky chair, eyes wide and jaw clenched tight, ready to leave at the first hint of a punch. Raleigh stared at him, those crazy blue eyes at least as wide as his own. For a breathless eternity, neither of them dared to breathe.

Then... Raleigh sighed.

Oh, fuck. Oh shit oh fuck.

"Got some bad news for you, kid."

Oh, fuck, Raleigh was straight, or the gorgeous wanker remembered all too well how big an asshole Chuck had been at first, or... fuck, Chuck was just plain unloveable.

Why the fuck did he say anything? He should've just--

"It's too late."

\--kept his big, stupid, impulsive mouth shu--

...what?

He blinked, then focused on the menace to his sanity that had become such a huge part of his every day. The menace who was currently smiling softly, those blue eyes warm and soft.

"I already love you, ya big jerk." A snort. "I mean, I thought that was obvious. I found us a picnic basket, Chuck." A nudge under the table. "In Hong Kong."

Oddly appalled, he pointed accusingly at the wanker. "You fucking ratbag! Why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Blue eyes rolled, and the irritating bloke lightly kicked him under the table. "Yes, because you're so warm and cuddly and welcoming, Chuck."

He opened his mouth to protest.

"Outside of naptime."

He closed his mouth, then shrugged. "That's fair."

He wouldn't trade naptime-in-a-pile for anything in the world. Max would never forgive him for the sudden lack of cuddles from two of his three favorite people.

But he couldn't hold the grin back anymore. "So... you really love me?"

Unfortunately, though the smile remained, the bloke suddenly looked a bit... fidgety. "Mm-hm."

Frowning, he leaned forward over his plate, which suddenly smelled almost irresistible, though he'd never been further from eating in his life. "Oi, Raleigh... mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Okay, that was definitely not Raleigh's warm, bright smile. "My tandoori chicken's a little dry, is all."

And that was patently untrue. The chicken was juicy and fucking delightful. Raleigh had offered him a piece earlier and -- oh, shit.

Here, Raleigh had been making all the gestures and had just said--

"I love a man who can't lie for shit."

Oh. Well. Not how he'd meant to say it, but dammit, he couldn't leave the bloke hanging like that. Chuck really _wasn't_ the most approachable guy on the best of days, but Raleigh had told him he loved him anyway, and Chuck hadn't reciprocated, and dammit, that was just fucking rude.

Chuck Hansen had always been and would always be a jerk, but damn if he'd be rude to the man he loved.

Plus, the stupid blurt was worth it for the slight perking up hidden behind narrowing eyes on the silly bloke's face. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or not."

Blushing a bit, he shrugged and prodded his chicken with his fork. "Offended because I love you or offended because you can't lie for shit?"

Aaaannnnd there was the bright, happy, doofus grin he'd fight another kaiju just to see. "Offended because you can't tell me you love me without an insult for good measure."

Jesus, the butter chicken was fucking fantastic. And because he wasn't a goddamn grunt, he chewed fully and swallowed before responding.

"But you love me anyway."

It wasn't a question. He absolutely was not holding his breath whilst waiting for an answer.

Thankfully, Raleigh was a good bloke and didn't leave him in agony. "Yeah, yeah. I'm a glutton for punishment."

Relieved but hiding it, he pointed with his fork. "And that, mate, explains your whole goddamn life."

Snickering, the silly sod shook his head. "Can't even argue." The pretty wanker took a slow, savoring bite of his tandoori chicken. Then: "So... are we both okay with this?"

As if it was even a question. "More than."

"So we can start making out in the evening?"

He did not waggle his eyebrows. He didn't. He just... had an itch on his forehead and his hands were full. "Why wait for evening?"

Luckily, the bloke didn't take him up on the half-assed offer but just shook his head. "I really am a glutton for punishment." But the smile came back, slow and warm and fond. "Guess I picked the right guy to fall for."

This time, he actually managed to not waggle his eyebrows, though he nearly got butter sauce on his shirt as he leaned over the table again. "I'll punish you all you want, love."

One eyebrow rose, and Chuck blushed and sat back in his seat.

"Sounded better in my head."

The wanker nudged his foot under the table again. "I didn't say I wasn't into it."

A chunk of chicken sucked back into his throat, and he choked, eyes watering and fist thumping himself on the chest. Raleigh, that rotten sod, just grinned and watched, unconcerned.

Weak, he swigged water, gasping between gulps. "You'll be the death of me, ya wanker."

"Oh, no." That smile was positively evil. "I'm not done with you yet."

He blinked, then practically inhaled the rest of his excellent meal, then hurried through Raleigh's leftovers, too. He had better things to do than eat. In public. With clothes on.

And maybe, if he was lucky, after he _got_ lucky, they'd watch that movie again. He doubted he'd puddle up at the sad part this time.

He might, though, when that final family portrait was being painted of the governess and her cranky boss husband and their huge, happy family.

Yeah, he might cry a bit, then.

He couldn't wait.


	21. Enamor Me - Chuck/Raleigh & Mako

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this very productive list of Tumblr prompts:](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/164575815017/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt)
> 
>  
> 
> _Leave a “Enamor Me” in my ask, and I will write a fluffy drabble characters trying to woo one another [be it out of the blue/Valentines Day, feel free to specify.]_

"I just don't get it, Mori."

Chuck slumped back against the wall, his legs sprawled out across his bunk. Yes, he was sulking. He couldn't even be arsed to deny it.

"Chuck, maybe you should--"

"I've tried every-fucking-thing. I set up a movie night, and he asked the whole goddamn shatterdome to sit in with us. I asked him to dinner on the mainland, and he brought Herc and Max along. Fuck, I even offered to get the hell outta here altogether, go wherever he wants to go for a weekend, just me and him... and he fucking asked if I'd go to Alaska with him to... get this... mourn over Yancy's fucking grave."

Mori huffed, not quite a laugh but too close for comfort. "You should be flattered he trusts you enough to ask you along. He's not been there in years."

He grunted, too frustrated and disheartened to move. "I am. I suppose." Another grunt. "But fuck if that's romantic, yeah? Something tells me weeping over his beloved brother won't exactly be conducive to stars in his fucking eyes."

Ugh. He fucking hated the look on her face. They'd never exactly been close, but they'd always moved in the same gestalt within the jaeger program, and on the rare occasion that he'd been obliged to confide or explode, he had always turned to her.

Once. Before this time.

She'd given him the same look then. That half-amused, half-sad look.

"You are trying too hard."

Yet another grunt. "I feel like I'm not trying hard enough."

Because Raleigh Becket deserved better than a jerk like Chuck Hansen. And that was at the bottom of every gesture Chuck had made. Even if he showed up in a fucking tuxedo with roses and wine and a fucking string quartet, he still couldn't make up for how he'd treated the poor bloke at the start. Or how big a jerk he still was, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn't help it, dammit. The snark would just jump right off his tongue any time the bloke said something goofy or sappy.

Jesus. He was never getting laid again. Or snuggling on the couch he'd dragged down from one of the couples' berths a floor up. Or snogging up on a catwalk in the jaeger bay.

Still with that irritating expression on her face, Mori sat down beside his legs and patted his knee. Grudgingly, he hefted himself up and scooted to the edge of the bed to actually sit beside her like a fucking adult.

Her tone much lower, she leaned over to bump him with her shoulder. "You are trying too hard."

Sighing, he glanced at her. "He's been through the shit, Mori. He deserves better than me."

Her eyes rolled, but her expression was soft in a way few people ever saw. "And you are too hard on yourself."

He snorted, but his heart wasn't in it. He was wasting his time. Worse, he'd gone and fallen for the big, beautiful idiot, and it was all for nothing. Hell, if it was just about getting laid, they'd have already done the deed. He didn't have to be charming to get a fuck in, after all.

But that wasn't what he wanted.

Okay, that wasn't _all_ he wanted.

He'd been craving that ass for _years._

Suddenly, Mori heaved a dramatic sigh and threw her hands up. "I give up. You two are idiots."

Frowning, he leaned away from her and glared. "Real fucking sympathetic, there."

She rolled her eyes. "Raleigh has been courting you almost as long as you've been courting him."

Every single thought left his head. He could only stare.

"He's been trying to socialize you because he's sad how alone you seem, but he also just enjoys spending time with you." God, he'd forgotten how wicked she looked when she smiled like that. "And frustrated because you keep making plans when he has already thought up something for you."

Finally, he blinked. Then blinked again. Then groaned, long and loud.

"What. The. Fuck??"

Jesus in a jumped up jaeger, but he fucking hated her laugh. It was light and fun and musical, and it had never once meant a good thing for him.

But he rather liked it, too.

"Oh, Chuck. It's been _terrible_ watching you two try and fail to... to...." Another burst of laughter, her eyes tearing up with it. "I'm so sorry, but... really. Do you two never just... talk?"

"Shut up!"

"You'll never get anywhere with that attitude."

"Dammit, Mori!"

She full-on giggled and elbowed him. Damn pointy elbows. It actually rather hurt. "You'll go with him to Alaska, right?"

Grumbling, he rubbed at the new sore spot. "Yes, I'll fucking go with that silly wanker to bloody Alaska."

"Good."

"I'm not fucking wooing him over his brother's grave, though."

Another chuckle and another elbow to the sore spot. "Chuck."

But he grinned crookedly and nodded, already planning his pack and gearing himself up for the likely tears at the graveside. No, it wouldn't be romantic, but it damn well would be a sign of trust, and Chuck would be damned if he took it lightly.

And maybe it didn't matter so much what they did so long as they did it together.

Yeah. Maybe that.

So, as Mori left with a scruff of his hair that he ignored with bad grace, he scooted around to his display and tapped the video feed. Soon enough, Raleigh's tired face floated just in reach.

"Yeah?"

Grinning a bit, Chuck shrugged. "That trip to Alaska still on, mate?"

God, what a sight when the exhaustion lifted on a broad smile. "It can be, yeah. You wanna go?"

_Don't try too hard. Just go with it._

So, he smiled as best he could. "Yeah. I do."

The broad smile softened but didn't dim in the slightest. It was fucking beautiful.

"Good. Thanks, Chuck. Is tomorrow too soon?"

Since in an hour wouldn't be too soon, he just shook his head. "Meet you on the helipad?"

"Ten A.M.?"

"Perfect."

It wasn't, but it would do. And it wasn't exactly romance, but for blokes like them who'd been through hell, it was a start.

So, smiling, he got up off his ass to pack.


	22. Call Me - Raleigh/Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this crazy list of Tumblr prompts:](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/164575815017/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt)
> 
>  
> 
> _Leave a “Call Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble about one character asking for another [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]_

Raleigh Becket hadn't had time off in years, and though he should probably be antsy as hell and bored out of his mind, he couldn't help but love being on indefinite medical leave. Mako teased him about how often he just lazed about in pajamas and socks, but he knew she approved. She'd seen, of course.

She knew how hard he'd always driven himself.

So he binge-read books and binge-watched old television shows and movies, and he made himself comfortable on whatever surface he decided to occupy, and he fucking loved it. Yancy would have loved it, so he made sure to enjoy it twice as much, just to be sure.

Thus, he was deep into an old Bob Ross episode, half-wondering if he should give painting a try since it didn't seem to violate any of his medical restrictions and lazily anticipating the moment where the beautiful and artfully balanced painting would be split asunder by a huge old tree right down the front, when a knock distracted him. The marshal, probably. Mako wouldn't bother to knock and Tendo wasn't around much at the moment, due to a sick kid at home.

Shrugging, he paused the show, rolled out of bed, and scruffed a hand through his hair. He had no doubt it was sticking up in the back from a long afternoon of lying back on his pillow. For Mako, he wouldn't care. She'd tease him about it while smiling that happy, strangely secret smile of hers. But for Herc, he felt he ought to shape up a bit.

He was not mentally prepared to find Chuck Hansen leaning heavily against his doorjamb, breathing shallow and fast with an arm pressed tight around his ribs. The kid was pale with hectic flares of red in his cheeks, sweating profusely through his ubiquitous grey t-shirt, and his eyes were... scared. Wide and bloodshot and scared.

What the fuck?

"Ray."

He blinked, then nodded as if a response was required of him. As if Chuck was asking his name.

"Got a spot of bother."

Finding his voice -- and his sense to reach out as if he could steady the poor bastard -- he huffed. "I can see that. What's going on?"

"Can I come in?"

He frowned a bit. "Are you sure you shouldn't go to the infirmary?"

Those scared eyes widened even further, then the kid looked down at his boots. "Please?"

Well, fuck. Chuck Hansen probably hadn't used that word since he was in single digits. Unable to refuse such an earnest plea, Raleigh nodded and backed away, then changed his mind and offered an arm to help when the kid swayed a bit too far pushing away from the doorjamb.

"Thanks, mate."

"No problem."

Being careful of the ribs the big guy kept an arm clamped around, he tried to take a bit more weight, and medical leave restrictions be damned. The heavy body leaning against his put out heat like a furnace, which didn't bode well.

"But seriously, Chuck, what the hell is going on?"

Gasping now and even more pale, the kid stumbled along until Raleigh settled him in a slump on his own bunk. "'M all right."

Even more worried, Raleigh crouched in front of his old rival and looked up at that hectic/pale, sweaty face. "You're not. What happened? Are you sick? Hurt?"

Chuck sighed, then winced and sat up a little straighter, eyes wincing shut. "Both, I think."

_"Chuck."_

Instead of answering, the big jerk finally let up around his ribs enough to lift the hem of the damp t-shirt, revealing a bulky, awkward lump of gauze taped on his left-side lower ribs. Hissing, he reached down and pulled at the nursing tape and raised the makeshift bandage away. The gauze stuck to the inflamed, puffy, jagged slice extending up from hip to ribs, but Raleigh got an unfortunately good look at the mess. A better look than he wanted, frankly.

"Jesus Christ, Chuck." Swallowing hard, he tried to look away but couldn't. The kid needed a doctor, and now. "How the fuck did this happen?"

Gasping again, the poor bastard covered the wound, slumped, hissed, and straightened back up. He now looked sickeningly pale and hollow-eyed, the flush in his cheeks looking weirdly like stage make-up against the rest of his shock-white face. Even the notorious freckles seemed eclipsed by his pallor.

"Fell off Cherno's damn knee assembly and glanced off the foot on the way down. Bashed in my ribs a bit and got caught on some loose sheeting."

Wincing, Raleigh shifted to kneel instead of crouch, feeling weak. "Thought you were supposed to strap in if you're scrapping off the floor."

Because of course they'd fished both Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon out of the bay, and of course they were salvaging everything they could in hopes of swapping enough parts between the two of them for one functioning jaeger, just in case. No one who'd actually fought a kaiju thought they were gone for good.

"Was just... gonna be a sec--" Another wince, that big arm clamping back around his ribs. "A second. Slipped on a hydraulic leak and down I fucking went."

Well, shit. He couldn't necessarily argue that. It was just a stupid accident, but Chuck was in serious trouble. The gash was clearly infected, and who knew if the kid had broken ribs? Or bruised an organ or two?

Sighing, he shifted to reach up and put the back of his hand to the pale forehead. Dry heat, despite the pallor and the sweat nearly everywhere else. Not good.

"When did this happen?"

Groaning softly, the kid listed over to his right, then gave up and slumped down to half-ass lie on his side, his arm clamping even harder over the wounded left flank. "Yesterday, maybe. Maybe the day before. Hard to remember."

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Chuck, we've got to get you to the infirmary."

Despite his words, he shoved to his feet to heft the big idiot's legs up onto the bunk. Thankfully, the change in pose apparently eased the stretch, and some of the strain went out of the kid's face.

"Why didn't you just go there? Why come here instead?"

Because the kid needed a doctor, not a fellow jaeger pilot. What the hell could Raleigh even do?

Not that his inadequacy stopped him from snagging his pillow and shoving it under the kid's head and running a hopefully soothing hand through the mussed hair.

Weirdly enough, the kid leaned into the gesture and huffed a breathless chuckle. "Who did I come to when I needed someone to sneak out with me for a new tattoo?"

Rolling his eyes, he set to peeling the t-shirt away from damp, overheated skin to take it off without hurting the kid. "Me, but only because I'd told you the week before that I wanted one, too."

"Right." Another slightly pained huff as the shirt came off and shivers immediately set in. "And who did I come to... fuck, it's fucking cold in here...."

Shaking his head, he reached to pull the blanket away from the wall and drape it over the big, shivering body. "Stay put. Keep talking."

Because he supposed he could do a few things, after all, including secretly contacting the infirmary to send someone up with a wheelchair because Ranger Hansen had an infected wound and possibly some cracked ribs and would never make it that far on his own two feet. And maybe sponge off some of that sick sweat with nice, hot water.

"Chuck?" He peered back into the main room from the bathroom where he was rummaging under the sink. "Who did you come to for...?"

"When I... got all fucked up about that... fuck...." The kid shifted on the bed, gasped as the wound likely pulled, and settled again. "What was I...? Oh, right. Who'd I come to when I was fucked up over that nightmare about Mum?"

Okay, that was actually a valid point. Even at the time, Raleigh had been stunned that Chuck came to him about it instead of Herc. Herc could have sympathized, at least. All Raleigh could do was listen, give the kid an awkward hug and a handful of tissues, and send him back to his bunk in hopes of a couple more hours of sleep before the day started.

"And... oi, Raleigh? Still there?"

"Still here." But it seemed to take forever for the mop bucket to fill up enough to stay good and hot. "Keep going. I'm listening."

"Good. Uh... who did I come to when I wanted something besides cafeteria food but Dad couldn't get away?"

He couldn't help but grin a bit at that. It had been a good day, actually. They'd practically camped out in a dim sum restaurant and refused to leave until they'd tried literally everything on the menu. No one on the staff complained, though. Sometimes, saving the world had its perks.

Hefting the bucket out of the sink, he tossed a towel over one shoulder and snagged the big cleaning sponge -- still in the package, or he wouldn't have dared use it -- and headed back into the main room, still grinning.

"Yeah, but if I remember right, I was pretty much your last possible choice, there. Herc was in meetings with Mako, Tendo had a family thing, Gottlieb had already left, and I don't think anyone in their right mind would voluntarily go to lunch with Newt."

But when he knelt down by the bed and went to arrange his supplies, he realized Chuck was staring at him solemnly, his eyes huge and dark from the heavy circles under them.

"You weren't a last choice, mate."

Raising an eyebrow, he flipped the blanket back and wet the sponge as the shivers immediately started back up.

"Came to you first every time. Dunno why." The kid tried to shrug and winced. "Just felt right to come to you first. Knew you'd sort me out."

It felt... weirdly intimate. Maybe it was the steady eye contact, despite how bloodshot the poor kid's eyes were. Maybe it was the warm sponging that started at the face and neck and trended down until he was very carefully dabbing at the edges of the wound he uncovered.

Maybe it was just the trust implicit in that last statement.

_Knew you'd sort me out._

He hadn't known his old rival had that kind of faith in anyone, let alone the has-been.

So he kept his touch light as he sponged away the chill sweat, dried the shuddering body off, then covered the poor kid up again, practically tucking him in and even going so far as to tug off the heavy boots. Chuck didn't say another word, just watched with exhausted, sunken eyes, wincing occasionally but not protesting.

And when the nurse knocked on Raleigh's door, Chuck didn't protest being hefted into the wheelchair -- Raleigh helped, but he really wasn't supposed to be lifting anything, and the nurse chided him into just hauling Chuck's legs -- but did reach out to snag the sleeve of Raleigh's hoodie on the way out the door. Tired, fever-bright eyes pleaded up at him, but it really wasn't necessary.

Of course Raleigh was going with him.

And after lancing and a thorough lavaging and stitches and enough antibiotics to resurrect a dead kaiju, as Chuck lie wan and practically unconscious in a narrow infirmary bed, Raleigh sat at his bedside and read aloud quietly but steadily until the kid finally fell asleep.

And stayed to make sure he slept soundly.

And lingered to keep him entertained the next day while a tsking doctor got the big jerk up for x-rays and found three cracked ribs.

And let the kid hang around in his bunk to read and watch movies and old television shows while he recovered.

And when Chuck finally came to him for a kiss, Raleigh did his best to sort him out.

He was the kid's first choice, after all. He didn't want to disappoint.


	23. Fight Me, Nurse Me - Raleigh & Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this mega list of Tumblr prompts:](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/164575815017/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt)
> 
>  
> 
> _Leave a “Fight Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble out one character fighting with/or against another._
> 
>  
> 
> _Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character healing another._

"I'm just saying--"

"And I said shut the fuck up, you fucking has-been!"

Raleigh ducked, resigned but still trying. He'd promised Herc, who had damn near broken down with frustration and fear for his kid's state of mind. He'd promised to keep trying, no matter what.

Even punching.

"Will you please just listen for a--"

 _That_ punch landed, a right cross that knocked him back a step and left the inside of his cheek feeling like raw hamburger. Dammit. It wasn't a full-force hit, likely because the big ginger jerk had expected him to dodge, but it was bad enough that he tasted the copper tang of blood.

Gritting his jaw and ignoring the flare of pain in his cheek, he told himself he wouldn't escalate this to an actual fight. Right now, it was just Chuck blowing off steam and trying to chase him off.

He _would not_ punch back.

Unfortunately, he took a good, hard look at the asshole's face and the smug, stubborn smirk all over his stupid, freckled face and... yeah. He would probably be punching back.

No. He had more control than this. He wasn't the stupid, reckless kid he used to be. The stupid, reckless kid Chuck still was.

A stupid, reckless kid who was spinning out with survivor guilt and a loss of purpose and refused to seek help from the people who cared about him or the professionals provided by the PPDC.

Dammit.

If he gritted his teeth any harder, he might actually break one. "Chuck. I know you think you can--" Duck. "--handle this yourself. I know--" Deflect and sidestep. "--you think it'll go away on its own. But it--" Dodge and fists in pockets, just in case. "Dammit, Chuck! Fucking stop and listen to me for a--"

Because Chuck had been a brawler in their hallway fight and had been throwing heavy punches just now, Raleigh didn't expect the big bruiser to drop down and sweep his legs. He was on his back like a flipped-over turtle before he truly knew what had happened, and his instincts kicked in before his reason could throw up a protest.

The fight was fucking _on._

He rolled away from the stomp at his chest and came up swinging. Now that he was fully engaged, he had no intention of losing. There was no world-saving mission waiting at the end of this fight to hold him back. This little prick had already punched him and landed him on his ass. Raleigh had no intention of letting him get any more.

Unfortunately, a few exchanged punches and kicks later, both their knuckles were split, and Raleigh landed a truly epic jab that could have broke the brat's nose. It was sudden and unexpected for both of them, because until then, they'd been surprisingly evenly matched. But Raleigh expected the kid to dodge and Chuck just... didn't.

Blood pattered on the floor, loud in the sudden silence. And Chuck just... stood there. Made no move to cover his nose or stop the flow or even really react to the hit.

Almost as if he'd _wanted_ to be hit.

Well. Shit.

"Chuck?" He didn't let his guard down, but he did start to feel like a real asshole. "You okay?"

But the kid still just stood there, head slightly turned and bent down, blood all but fauceting from his nose. It was almost like Raleigh had somehow found his off switch and kicked it right through the wall.

Worried now, he stepped forward, half-expecting the whole pause to be a ploy of some sort, but Chuck was gone. Not ready-to-pass-out gone but just... out of it.

And his nose was still going like a low-powered geyser. Shit.

Luckily, he'd caught the brat on the way to the showers after a stint in the jaeger bay, so it only took a moment to duck into the outer room and grab a towel. He didn't tilt the kid's head back, just bundled the towel under his nose and pinched the bridge with it to staunch the flow.

"Jesus, kid, I'm sorry." And he was. Now. "Thought you'd dodge that one. I swear I didn't track you down just to break your nose." But he was still Raleigh Becket, so he couldn't prevent a hint of a smirk. "Again."

It didn't get a response. Chuck stood passive and still under his grip. The worry came rushing back, and he briefly debated walking the kid to the medical bay with the hopes of also sitting the kid down with one of the staff therapists. Unfortunately, he figured the big idiot would just come to his senses and walk away with a few choice words. And maybe a few more punches.

So, he carefully took his problem child by the upper arm, relieved when that big body followed along with a gentle tug. He didn't dare take him to Chuck's room, which was right by Herc's. He doubted Herc would blame Raleigh for the fight, but the Hansen family relationship was still rocky and full of mines, so any possibility of salvaging the situation would probably fly out the window as the kid deflected to a different sort of anger.

If he could just talk to the kid like this, alone, without that hair-trigger attitude preventing even the start of a conversation....

So, keeping a careful eye on the vacant expression on that usually arrogant face, he slowly led the way to his own bunk. He was pretty sure he had ice in his mini fridge, which should at least prevent swelling and maybe help stop the bleeding. And he could hopefully talk with the kid while he applied the ice.

Soon enough, he'd settled that big body on the edge of his bed and lifted one of Chuck's limp hands to hold the towel in place so he could rummage up an ice pack. It was easy enough to crack a few ice cubes into a hand towel and wrap them up. It was slightly less easy to sit himself next to his rival and gently urge the bloody towel down enough to press the icepack to the bridge of his nose, but he did it.

He even reached up to cup the back of the kid's head and keep it from tilting back. The muscles in his legs felt as twitchy as a cat's whiskers with the expectation that the fog would suddenly lift and Chuck would go back to trying to knock his head off, but for now, he managed to play nurse without incident.

"I really am sorry, you know."

The big body heaved a sigh. "Yeah. I doh."

He stifled an urge to snark at the nose-clogged tone. This was definitely not the time.

"I'm just... worried about you. We all are."

Another sigh, this time accompanied by rolling eyes in rapidly-bruising sockets.

So Raleigh sighed, too. "Chuck, c'mon. You think I don't have survivor guilt? You think I don't have screaming nightmares and panic attacks and suicidal depression and PTSD?"

The kid shifted but didn't respond. More importantly, he didn't jerk away from the ice on his face or the bloody towel under his nose.

"Can't you just go to one appointment? What would it hurt? No one will think less of you." He huffed, but held the pressure steady. "Hell, we're _all_ going to therapy. Even--"

Oops. Probably not a good idea to mention Herc right now.

Fidgeting at the near-miss, he shut his potentially traitorous mouth and called the conversation as good as it could be. They hadn't exactly talked, but he'd at least been able to convey everyone's concern and suggest a solution without interruption.

And all it took was a bloody nose. And several bloody knuckles. And some bruises they'd both be feeling for a week or so.

Jesus, this fucking stubborn-ass kid.

Finally: "I doh, okay?" Another heavy sigh, and the big jerk leaned a bit into the pressure on his face. "I doh I deed to go. It scares deh shit out of be, yeah?"

"I get that." And he did. It had taken all of Mako's persuasive powers to get Raleigh to go to that first appointment. And all his own will to go to the second one. "And it's not easy. I'm not gonna lie. It's the single fucking hardest thing I've ever done to make myself go and _keep_ going."

Wounded eyes finally met his. "Does it help?"

He'd better damn well be honest. "Sometimes." A careful shrug. "Sometimes not. Sometimes, it almost feels worse."

Damn if those big grey eyes looked more wounded still. And scared. "Den why deh fuck do you keep going?"

The corner of his mouth twitched on something that wasn't quite a grin. "Because Yancy would've wanted me to. And because recovery isn't linear. It isn't even an upward arc. It's a goddamn mountain range of peaks and valleys." This twitch was a little closer to a grin. "But the peaks get higher every time, and the valleys aren't always so low."

Damn those eyes. Raleigh was fairly certain that would-be-trusting, still-scared look would haunt his dreams tonight. It was the expression of a child seeing their parent open the closet door just before they turn on the light to prove the monster isn't really there.

"You swear?"

He was tempted to make a joke. But he wouldn't.

"I swear."

Chuck looked away and shifted, still not pulling away. "Could I baybe... sit in on one of yours? See how it goes? What to expect?"

He hesitated, even knowing he might be undoing any slight progress he might have made. Just... his therapy sessions were... personal. Painful, sometimes. Frustrating when he didn't feel any progress. Did he really want to give Chuck Hansen, asshole extraordinaire, that kind of ammo to use on him next time the mood struck?

But those broad shoulders started to slump, and, like his younger self, Raleigh did something impulsive and just hoped for the best.

"Okay."

That got the kid's attention, and fast. "Yeah?"

He finally managed an actual grin, crooked though it was. "Yeah. I'll probably have to sign some consent forms, but I think my therapist will be okay with it if she knows what it's for."

The relief all over the top half of the kid's face was extraordinary. "Thanks, bate." The corners of those bright eyes crinkled, suggesting an answering grin. "Sorry 'bout the cheek. And the ribs."

Surprised, he felt his eyebrows shoot up but managed to keep from snorting incredulously. Maybe they were past the point of cutting sarcasm and weaponized snark, but maybe they weren't.

So: "Water under the bridge?"

The brat even went so far as to elbow him lightly without shoving him far enough away to mess up the nose treatment. "Good."

Raleigh's next appointment was three days away, so as soon as he was sure the bleeding had stopped and sent the kid on his way with the ice pack and a promise to take care of the splits over his knuckles -- and a return promise to take care of his own -- he sat down and typed out an email explaining the situation to his therapist and asking if Chuck could sit in. The response was almost immediate: her assistant would have the paperwork ready when they arrived for the session.

It was all but done.

And when Chuck knocked on his door later that evening, sheepish and shuffling his feet and bruised around the eyes, to ask if maybe Raleigh would sit with him at supper, he agreed without really thinking about it. They didn't have to talk, the big dork hurriedly promised. He was just tired of sitting by himself or avoiding Herc.

Which was how he found himself sitting with Chuck at supper that night and at breakfast and lunch the next day. Mako joined them for supper the next night. Tendo for a quick chat over bagels and coffee the next morning.

Herc for lunch the next day. Chuck sat tense and quiet beside him... but didn't get up and stalk away.

It was a start.

Raleigh would gladly take it.


	24. Paint Me - Raleigh/Chuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one from [this list of Tumblr prompts:](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/164575815017/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt)
> 
> _Leave a “Paint Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character drawing a picture of another [like one of your french girls~ be it painting them or drawing them, maybe offering a picture of them as a gift, feel free to specify.]_

"This is the stupidest fucking thing ever. Why the fuck did I agree to this?"

The stupid American wanker that had somehow become Chuck's best damn friend in the year since Pitfall brandished his stupid fake gun with a stupidly broad grin. "Because you're bored out of your mind and Herc banned you from the big bag until you replace the one you knocked off the chain and split open?"

Dammit.

Giving in with admittedly bad grace, Chuck took another, less caustic look at his weapon of meager choice. The stupid fake gun looked basically the same as Becket's, though Chuck had gone with a larger reservoir to extend times between reloading. Otherwise, they should be fairly evenly matched.

Which didn't matter because paintball, as the wanker called it, was stupid. And a waste of time. Wasn't like it caused any lasting wounds to show off. Fuck, even the paint was washable.

"Let's just get this over, wanker. Most hits wins?"

"And careful with headshots. The goggles only protect so much."

Unimpressed, Chuck glared flatly at the silly fuck. "Really. You worried a little paint will ruin your pretty face?"

But the wanker just smiled sunnily. "Aw, Chuck! You think I'm pretty?"

"Oi, fuck you, ya ratbag." He definitely was not blushing. It was just hot in here. "Just for that, you're buying food afterward."

"You're on. Let's go."

Grumbling all the way, Chuck followed his unlikely best mate into one of the designated battle zones -- unable to avoid rolling his eyes at the thought of calling this shite "battle" -- and eyed the schematic just outside the gate. For all that this was fucking stupid, he had no doubt Becket would make the most of his prior experience and be damn good competition. If he wanted to keep up, he'd damn well better remember the hidey-holes and high ground areas.

Upon stepping into a warehouse-sized room mocked up like a sparse forest -- they both agreed that the crumbling cityscape might bring up bad vibes and ruin the experience for one or both of them -- they mutually agreed to giving each other a ten count to run in opposite directions for cover before starting. They broke, and without a second glance, Chuck headed for a copse of fake trees on a slight rise he'd seen on the map. High ground and a bit of cover sounded just the thing for getting a feel for how mobile Becket planned on being.

But this was still fucking stupid.

He held that opinion until the first paintball slammed into the side of his ass, feeling enough like a shot out of nowhere that he yelped and rolled away and reached for the spot, half expecting to be bleeding from something that hurt so bad. It didn't help that he touched a wet spot, and he would've panicked if he hadn't remembered. Paint.

Thankfully, _blue_ paint, or he might've thought the worst.

But seriously. Paintballs fucking hurt.

Game. Fucking. _On._

Refocusing now that there were physical stakes to be had, he ignored the heat of a bruise settling into the swell of his ass and tried to determine where the shot came from. These guns weren't that powerful, and the room wasn't so huge that there were infinite options.

His best guess, based on a quick peek through the heavy grouping of plaster tree trunks he lay behind, he guessed the irritating bastard had burrowed down in a makeshift cave off to the side. Smirking, Chuck started picking his way nearer, figuring if he was stealthy enough, he could pin the wanker in and unload his whole clip. Winner winner chicken dinner, as Becket said when he was being particularly insufferable.

Which was often.

It took some doing and more time than he'd expected, but he eventually sidled up beside the cubbyhole without making a sound, grinned madly, then leapt over in front of the opening and fired off three shots before realizing... the bloke wasn't there.

_Pop pop pop!_

"Jesus fuck _ow!!"_

The shots landed in a diagonal up his back, the last smacking into his shoulder hard enough to start a spin-around that he allowed to turn him all the way, his gun raised to return fire.

Nothing. No sign of the sneaky wanker.

"Oi, Becket, stop fucking about!"

Silence.

He... might have underestimated the situation. Refocusing again, he eyed the nearest cover for a sign of the wanker, trying to remember where on the diagram he currently was. Nothing moved in the false underbrush. Not a fake leaf twitched.

Frankly, it was eerie.

The afternoon progressed in much the same vein. Chuck would think he caught the wanker's wind, track him carefully and silently to a likely location, only to take exactly as many shots as he wasted on the scenery. By the fourth such set-up, he was furious, sporting an even dozen hot little bruises on his back, chest, ass, thigh, and arms, and more determined than ever to beat the irritating fuckwit he'd befriended for no goddamn good reason he could remember.

He hadn't landed a single fucking shot, and that, mates and nobs, would not fucking stand.

But he had the rotten sod now. He actually had his fucking nemesis in his sights. A few more steps, and he'd be in effective range. And yes, he planned to empty his whole fucking reservoir.

Crouching behind the last scrap of cover -- a plaster boulder pushed almost right up against the wall, which was painted to look like more scrub forest -- he paused to savor his oncoming victory, then squeezed the trigger.

Five shots in, he realized the shirt he'd targeted had given away under the onslaught and was fluttering down from... shit. From the fake branch the tricksy bastard had draped it over. Where the fuck was--

Pop pop _pop pop poppoppop **poppop!**_

The painful stings backed him up as the sadistic fuck neared until Chuck tripped over the stupid fake boulder, paintballs splattering all over his stomach, chest, and -- more painfully -- his neck. At least the wanker had the grace to reach out and snag him by the arm so he didn't go ass over tea kettle, but all that did was spin him around until he faceplanted on the wall, then slooped dizzily off to collapse on his side. The strap on his helmet slipped, knocking the whole damn thing askew.

Aching and frustrated, he lay there and groaned.

Then, the giant walking asshole that was no longer his best mate... _snickered._

"You okay, kid?"

Refusing to even roll to his back, he addressed his rebuttal to the wall just before him. "Fuck. You."

"What?" Now, the wanker was laughing at him. "I just painted a portrait of you, Chuck. You are now immortalized here forever. They'll talk about it for years to come."

Groaning again, he slumped further. "The fuck are you flapping about now?"

A hand cupped under his upper arm and tugged. To be stubborn, he refused to go at first. Unfortunately, he had no intention of spending the rest of his life curled up against a stupid fucking forest-painted wall, so he eventually gave in and let the wanker haul him back to his feet.

Then, the wanker -- shirtless and smug as fuck at the lack of any paint on his person -- gestured at said stupid fucking forest-painted wall. And the extravagant swoop of blue paint from where Chuck had faceplanted and fallen.

"I call it 'The Fall of a Hero'."

Fucking. Wanker.

"Aw, c'mon, Chuck." The asshole had the nerve to elbow him. "You are the tool with which I have created my masterpiece."

Tired and cranky and sore from all the fucking paintballs bruising the fuck out of him, he glared. "I fucking hate you."

Undeterred, the sadistic wanker shrugged, still grinning like a goddamn sunrise. "You'll do better next time."

"There won't fucking be a next time. I fucking hate this stupid game."

"Oo! We'll bring the Weis and team up against them!"

Un. Fucking. Believable.

Beyond done with the whole fucking day, he tried to shove past, but -- as usual -- the rotten sod was too fast and shot an arm out to clothesline him across the chest. He struggled reflexively, fucking up their balance until they both ended up stumbling back against the wall, chest to chest, the stupid blue paint smearing the bare skin pressed against him.

Their eyes met.

Chuck held his breath.

Becket blinked, those baby blues wide and surprised at first, then... warmer. Crinkling at the corners. The skin under Chuck's hands was warm and damp, firm and smooth. Maddening.

"We pair up with the Kaidanovskys and destroy the Weis?"

That... would be terrifying. And awesome. Almost as awesome as being crushed back against a wall by his best mate whose perfect ass he'd been hard-pressed to ignore all these months.

And the crushing might somehow happen again if they came back.

Well, fuck.

A smirk twisted his mouth. "Those speedy little fucks don't stand a chance."

The corners of Becket's eyes crinkled further on a wide, wicked grin. "Damn right, they won't."

If he just leaned a bit further....

Blue eyes lowered to Chuck's mouth, and his breath caught. The urge to wet his lips was damn near irresistible. The warm weight against his chest increased, increased, increased...

...and stopped.

Becket took a deep breath and stepped back, and without thinking it through, Chuck reached out and snagged the bloke by the belt, hauling him back in close. He'd been waiting almost a year to taste this silly fuck's mouth, and after the shit he'd just been through, he reckoned he'd earned it.

Thank fuck but the wanker kissed back with equal verve, crowding him back against the wall and groaning softly. A warm hand cupped Chuck's cheek, and he tilted his head just that much, and the kiss heated even further with the better angle.

At which point, Chuck gave him a mighty shove and let loose an upward-arcing spray of paintballs at point-blank range, splattering the wanker from left thigh to right shoulder with green paint.

"Ow, Chuck, what the fuck??"

"Now we're even, ya wanker."

Though he had no doubt those shots had hurt like a bitch, what with the point-blank range and the lack of clothing between skin and paintball.

In fact, now that he'd done it, he felt a little bad and immediately dropped his gun and put both hands up in surrender. "Sorry, mate. But you earned it."

Sort of.

Maybe.

Jesus, the bloke had to be pissed. And just when they'd finally admitted there might be something between them besides friendship and comradery. What the fuck was wrong with him?

But a sheepish glance up told him Becket wasn't entirely furious. The poor sod's jaw was clenched, yes, but his mouth was also twitching up at the corners.

"I'll forgive you on one condition, jackass."

Fair enough. He shrugged, hands still up.

Oh, fuck. The wanker lowered his head and looked up at him through those thick eyelashes, and if that wasn't flirting, Chuck didn't know what was.

"You have to wash off all the paint."

His heart kicked up a notch, his pulse throbbing in his throat. "Deal."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"Not a fucking thing, mate."

They couldn't get back to the shatterdome fast enough.

\--

The paintball place refused to paint over the blue splotch on the wall. They ran ads bragging about the famous hero, Raleigh Becket, painting the portrait of his fellow hero, Chuck Hansen, in their facility.

It was a surprisingly successful campaign. The scraggy forest became the best-selling room in company history.

\--

The Kaidanovskys absolutely _destroyed_ the Weis. Raleigh and Chuck didn't have to fire a shot.

Thus, they spent their time making out in the fake cave.

It was a success all around.


	25. Catch You on the Flip Side - Chuck/Raleigh & Yancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this [prompt list on tumblr](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/165381472667/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short): chaleigh ER/A&E AU.

"This is all your fault."

Raleigh, pained and having no interest in hiding that fact, adjusted the ice pack on his face. It was too cold to press directly against his swollen eye, but it felt both achy and wonderful on the surrounding socket. And his likely broken nose. Which had thankfully stopped bleeding but probably needed to be set.

"You're the one who didn't strap in right."

"Oi, fuck that!" The large, mouthy Australian -- the cause of all his current sorrows -- adjusted his own ice pack to more adequately attend the goose egg growing on the back of his stupid ginger head. "The ride attendant checked the harness before we took off. Not my fault the fucking thing released going into the loop."

For one terrifying, tunnel-vision moment on the ill-fated rollercoaster ride, Raleigh had envisioned the worst case scenario: the gape-mouthed stranger seated in front of him missing him entirely and free-falling the fifty or so feet all the way to the ground, likely careening off the brutally skeletal support struts as he went. He would have died. Of that, Raleigh had no doubt.

Instead, that shock of red hair came straight for Raleigh's face and slammed home, and in his confusion and fear, he'd locked his arms around the huge body slamming into him and held on for dear life, praying his own harness didn't slip free as easily as the stranger's had.

That Yancy's wouldn't. Because Yancy was behind him where Raleigh couldn't reach.

Thankfully, the loop had been near the end of the ride, and between Raleigh's death grip -- arms _and_ legs; he was taking no chances -- and the stranger's punishing grasp on the outsides of Raleigh's thighs as he held on for dear life while they were briefly upside down, they somehow made it without said stranger falling to an untimely death from a shoddy theme park rollercoaster in the middle of nowhere.

Unfortunately, the second the ride stopped and the danger had passed, the stranger started talking.

"My old man'll sort 'em out, though. I could've fucking _died._ They'll be paying for the rest of my university, the fucking lot of 'em."

Or, more accurately, _bitching._ Yancy had found it hilarious at first, but a ten-minute ambulance ride filled with nothing but angry Australian curses and threats changed his mind enough that he'd volunteered -- _volunteered!_ \-- to wait out in the overflowing E.R. lobby, just to get away from it. Yancy Becket, who always got his flu shot and hesitated to touch public bathroom doorknobs because people didn't wash their goddamn hands, volunteered to sit arm and arm with snot-nosed toddlers and coughing teens and groaning, babbling elderly folk and people who were bleeding but not hemorrhaging and, thus, could wait.

Just to not have to listen to this guy bitch anymore.

Impressive, really.

If Raleigh's head didn't feel as if his eye socket was broken to match his nose -- which it might well be; they still hadn't been taken back for x-rays yet -- he might better appreciate it. As it was, he really wished the guy would just shut up already. They'd been sitting on their respective hospital gurneys for damn near an hour already, mostly enclosed by stupid E.R. curtains that did nothing to mute the noisy bustle of an over-packed emergency ward, and Raleigh really just wanted his face to stop hurting.

And then... it happened.

"What's your name, then?"

He blinked with his one good eye and shot the guy -- a kid, really, if he was still in college, but big and broad and salty as fuck for his apparent age -- a surprised look. "Raleigh?"

"Right." It wasn't quite a sneer, but there was definitely a hint of judgment in the big jerk's tone. "Anyway... reckon I ought to thank you, yeah?"

He could not have been more surprised. He wasn't sure he'd been as surprised when the guy's head slammed into his eye.

"Not everyone would've grabbed on, yeah? Let alone held on through the loop."

Was... was the kid blushing? Jesus, and was that a bonafide smile? Oh, shit on a biscuit and call it a sandwich, but were those _dimples??_

"So... yeah. Thanks. For saving my life." A shrug that looked about as casual as a seizure. "You're all right, Ray."

Aaaaannnnd there was the salty jerk again.

"The name's Raleigh."

Definitely judging. "If you say so."

Sighing, he adjusted the melting ice pack for the tenth, the twentieth, thirtieth time. "Are you always like this?"

Without missing a beat, the kid shrugged. "Yeah. You?"

He couldn't help it. He snorted. The _balls_ on this brat. Raleigh couldn't tell if he knew exactly how obnoxious he was and didn't care or had no idea how abrasive and snarky he came across.

"What's so funny?"

Oh, God help him if the jerk got started again. So, restraining himself to another, smaller snort, he shook his head. "Nothing. What's your name, kid?"

"Chuck. And don't call me kid."

His one functioning eyebrow rose. "Then don't call me Ray."

Rolling his eyes, the kid squirmed irritably on the gurney. "The fuck is taking so long? I fucking hate American healthcare. Costs a bloody fortune and they aren't even _doing_ anything."

Patriotism wanted him to argue. Pragmatism had him nodding ruefully instead. "I can't even disagree. Healthcare here sucks. They have universal in Australia, right?"

"Yeah, I reckon so. Haven't been there since I was a sprog, though. Haven't kept in touch."

One eyebrow rose again. With that accent...?

Weirdly enough, the kid -- Chuck -- eyed him for a long moment, stiffening. Then, jaw tight, he went on with visible reluctance. "My mum died when I was ten, so Dad moved us to London to stay with an old military chum of his." Weirdly light-colored eyes, not quite blue and not quite green, skittered away. "Haven't been back since."

"Ah." There were so many landmines in all the holes in that story that Raleigh had no intention of stepping into it. "But England has good universal healthcare, right?"

Another awkward, jerky shrug.

Amazing. He'd managed to shut the kid up. He hadn't even had to do anything, really.

Unfortunately, the silence between them now sounded -- and felt -- thunderous.

He tried. He really tried to wait it out, madly hoping a nurse would stop by to make sure neither of them had bled to death or passed out from concussion or even just to take their goddamn temperatures.

This time, it was his shoulders tensing, his jaw clenching as he tried to speak. "My mom died when I was fifteen. Lung cancer."

He felt those light eyes on him, curious but still angry, still ready to take offense. All of a sudden, he wished Yancy had come back with them, after all.

"You know, she smoked all the way up to that last ambulance ride. I was so _mad_ about that." The strained muscle in his neck twitched. "Still am, really. It wouldn't have saved her life to quit by then, but...."

_What the ever-loving fuck are you doing, Rals?_

It wasn't quite Yancy's voice, but he could definitely picture Yancy's incredulous expression. Telling all of that to a prickly stranger he wasn't even sure he much liked? Talking about stuff neither he nor his brother could talk about to this day without one or the other of them getting choked up and needing to stop?

"There... was an accident. On base."

Gathering all his will, he looked at the kid he'd somehow miraculously caught mid-air. The kid he'd saved.

Chuck looked right back at him, eyes hard and defiant but... pleading, too. Maybe.

"It was an air show. A fluke thing, some kind of wiring malfunction, and the pilot had to bail out. They cleared the entire landing area and everyone took shelter... but we were already on the way to the lot. Missed the alarms. I wanted to go home early, though Mum wanted to stay. Threw one fuck of a fuss, and she gave in."

Oh, sweet mercy, but he had the worst intuition--

"My fault, yeah? We wouldn't have been in the lot when that fucking jet took out the whole center section, but I wanted to go home because it was too loud. Too many people. Too hot. Too boring when they weren't doing tricks up there."

Jesus. Suddenly, he wanted to reach over and hug the poor kid, prickly asshole or no. How the hell did someone live through something like that?

"Dad dug me out from the rubble, but Mum was already gone. She...." Chuck's throat clenched, the Adam's apple bobbing. "She tried to shield me."

He had no fucking clue what to say. What on earth _could_ he say? Ten years old, and the entire rest of his life tainted by something he'd really had no control over. No wonder the big jerk was... well, a big jerk.

Survivor's guilt would do that to you.

"Chuck?"

There was way too much expression in those eyes. Raleigh couldn't even begin to sort through the mess. Didn't even try.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you might be the luckiest son of a bitch I've ever met."

Gobsmacked, the kid rocked back, eyes wide, and stared at him.

Oops.

"I just mean... you survive something like that as a kid, and now your fucking harness lets go at the worst possible time, only for some random guy to snatch you out of the air?" Shrugging helplessly, he smiled a little. "You are one lucky fuck."

The moment stretched out like warm taffy, ready to pull apart at any second, Raleigh's nerves stretching with them until he wondered which would break first -- the silence or his nerve. What the hell had he been thinking? The poor bastard was having maybe the second worst day of his life, and Raleigh tells him he's lucky?

Finally, the big guy scooted off the gurney and stood tall, and... oh, shit. Bright eyes narrowed, and Raleigh was suddenly sure he'd get punched on top of the shellacking he'd already taken. He did not want to get in a fight in an E.R.

Then again, this might be the most practical place for one. And maybe they'd finally get some goddamn medical attention. Or arrested. Either way--

Chuck stopped directly in front of him, looming just at his knees, one hand fisted around the ice pack dangling at his side and the other hand just fisted. This would be very, very bad.

Then... the kid leaned. No, he _leaned._

Wide-eyed -- even the swollen eye under the ice pack -- Raleigh leaned away, reaching back to brace himself against the thin gurney mattress. "Chuck? What are you doing?"

Those not-blue-not-green eyes weren't narrow now. No, from a bare blink away, they were half-lidded, not narrow.

"Trying my luck."

What the--

Oh. _Oh._

It was a weirdly confident kiss, for all that it was from a stranger who'd looked ready for battle a second before. It wasn't domineering or pushy or arrogant in any way. Just... confident. As if Chuck knew Raleigh wouldn't pull away.

He would, though. Soon.

In a minute.

Because it was a very nice kiss, despite being unexpected. And Chuck's big body put out a very nice warmth as he crowded closer between Raleigh's knees, one hand going to the uninjured side of Raleigh's face to trace a gentle thumb along his jaw.

In fact, if it hadn't been for the ice pack still radiating both ache and chill against his eye and nose, he would've forgotten the situation entirely and full-on made out with this stranger that had literally landed in his lap out of nowhere. For all that he was a mouthy jerk, Chuck was one hell of a kisser.

"Oh, my God, seriously??"

He didn't jerk away, guilty and embarrassed. He did sigh, though, and pull just far enough back to end the kiss and look around Chuck's slightly flushed face to where his brother stood just at the edge of the curtain, radiating disapproval.

"Goddammit, Rals. I can't leave you alone for one second."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Chuck beat him to it. Without pulling away, the kid snorted and shot Yancy a withering glance.

"It's been like an hour, ya wanker, and you can leave us alone any time now. We're busy."

He should probably be offended on Yancy's behalf. But he wasn't. Not even a little bit.

So he smirked instead. "You heard him."

After all, Yancy had done worse. And had just as terrible taste in men as Raleigh.

"Seriously, Rals, this guy is--"

"Mr. Becket? Mr. Hansen? The radiologist is ready for-- oh." And now a nurse was staring at them from Yancy's side, her face losing its professional calm for only a moment before confusion set in. "Wait. I thought you two didn't know each other...?"

Yancy glared as if to underscore this reasonable point. The nurse raised both eyebrows. Chuck stood solid and steady between Raleigh's thighs, refusing to be embarrassed away.

So Raleigh just shrugged.

"What can I say?" Smirking, he reached down and smacked the kid on the ass, earning a surprised grunt and an incredulous look. "He's one helluva catch."

Groaning, Yancy smacked his hand to his forehead. The nurse snickered and tried to hide it.

And Chuck? Chuck just glared.

But he didn't move away.

"I'll get you for that."

Deciding that this had been a pretty damn good day, after all, Raleigh just grinned and went all-in. He waggled his eyebrows. Even though it hurt.

"Looking forward to it."

Best. Day. Ever.

**THE END**


	26. Knockin' on Heaven's Door - Chuck/Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this [prompt list on tumblr](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/165381472667/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short): knocking on the wrong door AU

Chuck Hansen knew there must be a perfectly good reason for a wet, mostly naked hunk of gorgeous answering the door to Mako's new apartment. In a towel. A very small towel that showed off most of one smooth, tightly muscled thigh.

With beads of glistening water trickling down all the nooks and crannies of a supremely built torso.

Dark blonde hair, scruffed and damp.

Dark, glittering blue eyes with crinkles at the corners.

_Jesus Christ, Mako, when did you go and get taste?_

"Hello?"

God, even the bloke's voice was pure sex, low and rich and perfect. What the fuck was happening here?

_Say something, idiot! You're staring like a loony!_

"Uh." Not an improvement. Shaking himself -- hopefully not externally as well as internally -- Chuck tried to make sense. "Mako?"

_Jesus. Christ._

Dark blonde eyebrows shot up, but the bloke grinned like he was born under a rainbow. "Ah. You're looking for 319. Down the hall and around the corner. First door on the left."

Blinking and finally shaking some of the naked-induced stupor, he sputtered. "But this _is_ three ninetee--"

Shit. Now that he could finally tear his eyes away from the vision splendid with miles of honey-tan skin and exactly the right muscle composition, he realized he'd knocked on 309. Not 319.

What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

Admittedly, if he'd gotten the right door, he wouldn't be drooling over a fucking gorgeous stranger who looked more and more amused by the situation with each rivulet of water to trickle down his abs.

And this not being Mako's apartment meant that maybe the walking god of summer standing before him was available.

"Uh."

Or maybe not, considering Chuck couldn't seem to string two whole words together at this point.

"It's okay. Happens all the time. The doors on the other side of the hallway are numbered weird, so if you haven't been here, it's easy to get confused."

Sure enough, when Chuck again tore his eyes away from a perfect pair of pecs to look behind himself, the opposite door read 318. He must have seen that and just assumed.

But seriously.

"Do you always answer the door wet and naked, mate?"

Again, those dark blonde eyebrows shot up, another grin blooming on that handsome face. The bloke was unreal, he was so pretty. Did mere mortals just wander around looking like sex gods in this fucked-up apartment complex?

And then, finally seeming to realize that Chuck was gobsmacked as much from his looks as from surprise at being at the wrong door, the bloke gave him a once-over, a slower second look, and a slow smile that looked nothing like the earlier sunny grin.

Oh, fuck, he was in so much trouble.

"Only on special occasions."

What the fuck was-- oh. Right. Answering the door naked.

"Are you and Mako...?"

What the fuck was-- _OH._

"No, fuck no." But the bloke's eyebrows shot up again, the sultry smile vanishing, and Chuck cursed under his breath. "Not like-- Jesus, mate, she's my adopted sister, yeah?"

If those goddamn eyebrows climbed any higher, they'd disappear into the pretty sod's hairline.

 _"You're_ Chuck?"

Frowning, he wondered if the sudden incredulity was a good sign or a bad one.

Luckily, it was now Blue Eyes' turn to awkwardly explain himself. "I just... she said she had a bratty little brother, ya know? I was picturing... like... a teenager or something. Jesus, kid, you're as tall as I am." The flustered look again turned appraising. "Broader in the chest. Nice guns, too."

He couldn't help it. He blamed his stupid fair skin.

He blushed.

"I especially like the freckles."

The blush deepened, heating his face and neck. Any more of this shite and he'd be sweating.

"How old are you, anyway?"

Trying to glare (and failing miserably, he knew), he crossed his arms and tried to look like a goddamn adult. "Oi, I'm twenty-one. How old are you, Methuselah?"

Oh, shit, that got a chuckle, and Chuck could stand to hear one fuck of a lot more of that low, throaty sound. Say from right next to his ear.

Jesus, this bloke.

"Just shy of twenty-seven."

"Right then, old timer."

This time, the silly sausage tried on a smirk. It looked just as good on him as every other expression. Dammit.

"You're kind of a dick, ya know it?"

He snorted. "You got a problem with that, pretty?"

Oh, and here came the smolder again. "Fuck no."

There was no possible way this could be going as well as he thought it might be going, but with that look on the gorgeous sod's face, he couldn't help but push his luck.

"What are you doing lat--"

"Chuck?"

Suddenly absurdly guilty, he jerked his head around to find Mako eyeballing him from where the hallway bent around the corner. She looked... oh, fuck. That was her "Chuck, what have you done now?" look, and it had never once boded well for him.

She was literally only four months older than him. How did she always make him feel like a little kid?

"Hey, Mako." Of course Tall Blonde and Gorgeous felt no shame. Even naked but for a goddamn hand towel stretched around his hips. "Why didn't you tell me your brother was hot?"

The blush became acutely uncomfortable. Hot, indeed. But not in the good way.

"Oh, Raleigh, no."

Raleigh? What the fuck kind of name was that?

But the pretty sod just grinned, those gorgeous eyes crinkling at the corners. "You'll share him, right?"

Exasperated, she rolled her eyes, but Chuck only stared at the bane of his sanity standing there so near-naked and perfect. Did he just...?

"I make a mean lasagna, and I have Netflix."

It couldn't possibly be this easy.

"Raleigh, we're supposed to meet Sensei for--"

"Deal."

The word jumped out of his mouth without his conscious control. Not that he really tried to stop it. If the bloke was offering Netflix and Chill -- hell, even if he wasn't -- Chuck was in. So fucking in.

"Chuck."

Ignoring her for the moment -- though he'd apologize later because she really was a good sort and he loved her dearly because she always put up with his bullshit and actually praised him for his accomplishments, where his old man just took them as a matter of course -- he held the bloke's gaze and nodded.

"Name the time."

Mako huffed. "Raleigh, don't make me tell your brother."

Also ignoring her -- though Chuck got the impression that, too, would be apologized for later; the pretty bloke just seemed the sort -- Raleigh smiled that slow, sultry smile again. "Eight o'clock?"

"Perfect."

With a wink, the gorgeous bastard backed a step. "I'll even have clothes on this time."

_Don't do it._

"Don't put yourself out on my account, mate."

_You fucking did it._

But the bloke just chuckled again, low and perfect, and moved to shut the door. "I think I'm gonna like you, Chuck."

_I sincerely fucking hope so._

But that one, he managed to keep to himself. Probably for the best.

And totally worth the "judging you" look Mako sent him as he sauntered down the hall toward where she stood with her hands on her hips. It felt weirdly like a Walk of Shame.

Well. A man could dream.

"You are the worst brother."

"Love you, too, Sis."

"Ugh."

Smirking, he followed her to her new apartment, already thinking about homemade lasagna and Netflix and how the firm, smooth flesh of that taut thigh would feel under his fingertips.

Eight o'clock couldn't get here fast enough.

**THE END**


	27. Not Gonna Write You a Lovesong - Chuck/Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [this prompt list on tumblr](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/165381472667/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short): writer and editor AU

Chuck stared at the screen with its multitude of comment indicators and tracked changes and let his irritation grow. Next page, more changes. Next page, _more changes._

Who the fuck did this wanker think he fucking was?

A published author several times over, Chuck Hansen was fairly confident about his writing skills. Every writer had their doubts, of course, and their periods of "why do I even fucking bother because I CAN'T WORD DAMMIT??", but overall, his stories about mecha pilots and Lovecraftian leviathans from alternate dimensions sold well enough and got rave enough reviews that he could usually mute that annoying, nay-saying voice and carry on writing.

But this fucking guy.

His new editor was a wanker. No other word for it. Tendo had never nitpicked every single word choice. Tendo had never suggested he question his characters' motivations and try to find something deeper. And Tendo had never, ever accused him of misusing verb tense.

Apparently, "R. Becket" had never read a goddamn book in his entire life besides Simon & Schuster. Why, oh why did Tendo have to move up to senior editor and leave his entire roster to some fucking noob?

Fuck this guy. Fuck this whole situation.

Standing away from his desk, he snatched up his keys, growled at his old man's questioning grunt, and strode out of the house on a goddamn mission. He was done trying to communicate via email with the useless fuck. This shit needed handling in person.

Thus, a ten minute cab ride later, he found himself on the lift on the way up to the Shatterdome Publishing offices, wondering whether or not punching an editor would get him blacklisted from the publishing world. Might be worth it. He could self-publish. He was pretty damn prolific.

He exited the lift like a summer thunderstorm looking for a place to loose his bag of winds and fistfuls of lightnings. The receptionist took one look at him and picked up the phone, talking nervously and earnestly into it, then hanging up just as Chuck reached her desk.

"Mr. Becket will be happy to see you in his office, Mr. Hansen. Just down that hallway, second office on the right."

Without slowing down, he marched in the indicated direction, gearing up for what his old man would likely call a tantrum but Chuck knew was a much-needed lecture on exactly what an editor's place was in the writer/editor relationship. It was _not_ rewriting an entire goddamn story from scratch and calling it "revision".

He started talking even before he got to the doorway. "Oi, listen up, fuckface. You got a lot of--"

He came to an abrupt halt just inside the door, eyes wide and rant dissipating like a fart in the wind. He didn't know what he'd expected to see, but it definitely wasn't this. R. Becket, wanker extraordinaire, was fucking _hot._

Like... _stupid_ hot.

And smiling faintly while his pretty blue eyes snapped with annoyance and at least as much piss and vinegar as Chuck had entered the room with.

"Mr. Hansen, I presume."

Oh, fuck, he even _sounded_ hot. This was not at all what he'd wanted. Speechless, he could only nod like an idiot.

"Please. Have a seat. I think we ought to get better acquainted."

Struck stupid, he meekly did as suggested, eyes wide and brain sending out distress signals he was too gobsmacked to attend to.

"I imagine it was something of a shock to get your manuscript back with so many edits."

Right. Edits. The word rang a dim bell somewhere far away. The wanker had a tiny, faint mole just at the crease where cheek met mouth. It was fascinating.

"When Mr. Choi was reassigning his authors, I requested you specifically. You're an amazing author, Mr. Hansen."

He blinked. It appeared the wanker's mouth was good for more than staring at and wishing for.

"But you're undisciplined. It's in a way that reads well, thankfully, but I think you could be better. With a little focus, I think you can be one of the best authors currently writing."

The irritation slowly trickled back, and he remembered he was here for a reason. And not just to stare at the pretty bloke in his expensive, sharp suit who unfortunately had veto power over whether or not Chuck ever got published at this house again.

Because couched in the compliments was an implicit insult: Chuck wasn't good enough.

The trickle became a rush, and he was angry all over again. "Oi, who the fuck do you think you are?"

Instead of answering, the irritatingly beautiful bloke reached down, opened one of his desk drawers, and pulled out an old paperback novel. Still smiling faintly -- but with less of that snapping hostility that, okay, had maybe been earned by Chuck's unfortunate entrance -- he dropped the novel and scooted it across the desk to Chuck's side.

 _The Fall_ , by Raleigh Becket. The cover was a swirling maelstrom of eye-gouging color leading down to the dimension into which the main character fell, screaming and helpless.

Gaping, Chuck looked up from the book, stared at the R. Becket that had shat all over his masterpiece, and let the pieces connect. "R" for Raleigh. This wanker with the over-eager red pen was the best goddamn science fiction author he'd ever read.

But five years ago, Raleigh Becket -- who had faithfully published every year of his brief but glorious four year career -- suddenly dropped out of sight. No more books. No more press tours. No more signings.

Half his fans assumed he was dead.

Chuck was one of them.

And yet, here he was. In a swank suit and understated tie in a sober but inviting office in Chuck's publishing house.

"If you're wondering, a traumatic brain injury five years ago impaired my ability to write. Car wreck. Bad one." The pretty bloke wasn't smiling now. "But I still wanted to be in the publishing industry, so Mr. Pentecost gave me a trial with editing." The broad shoulders shrugged. "Tendo said I had a natural talent at it, and I've been an editor here ever since."

Well. That fucking sucked.

Clearing his throat and hoping he could maybe clear the air between them, because he very much wanted to hear more about what had happened to his favorite author who had been such an inspiration for his own writing, Chuck shifted in his seat. He needed to backtrack his terrible first impression, and fast.

"Uh."

Well. That was a promising start.

"Can I get your autograph?"

Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Luckily, the bloke just chuckled and leaned back in his expensive office chair. "If you still want it, you can have it. But from the look on your face before you got an eyeful, you might not."

Blushing miserably, he squirmed again and tried to think of some way to salvage the situation. Unfortunately, eating crow was not his specialty.

"Right. About that."

Another chuckle, and the urge to deck the wanker came back, if only for a moment.

"Look, mate, you gotta know that seeing all those changes was...." Overwhelming? Upsetting? Frustrating? Daunting? "A bit much, yeah?"

Surprisingly, the bloke just nodded. "I understand. I felt the same way when my first manuscript came back from Stacker with all the red ink he could find."

It earned a wry grin that Chuck couldn't help. While he was still raw about the nasty shock of all those edits, he was grateful his editor wasn't the holy terror known as Stacker Pentecost, who had started this company back when Herc was still writing and had made celebrities and politicians alike cry with brutal, non-negotiable edits to their vanity pieces.

"But I promise you, Mr. Hansen, if you look at them one at a time, they aren't so overwhelming. And while you can veto any change you want to, I want you to keep an open mind. I really think that if you tighten up your narrative and really focus on what your pilot wants, you'll make her a much stronger character in a clearer story."

Slowly, grudgingly, he nodded. Raleigh Becket had written such brutally tight stories that universities almost immediately added them to their curriculum for study. His style was likened to the brevity and clarity of speech of Hemingway with the imagery and thematic style of Poe or Lovecraft. There was a sparse poetry in his tales of aliens and drones and the resilience of the human spirit that readers and scholars alike latched onto and couldn't get enough of.

If the bloke felt Chuck could come anywhere near that narrative brilliance, he'd be a fool to ignore his guidance.

So: "Yeah, alright." He nodded again with less reluctance. "I... uh... sorry. About the attitude."

The pretty sod grinned. "Don't worry. I was warned."

"Oi!"

Waving the protest -- more embarrassed than offended -- away, Mr. Becket stood from behind his desk and buttoned his suit jacket. Jesus, but the bloke was pretty. Filled out the suit like a hand in a glove. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, handsome face, low and pleasant voice. Perfect, really.

"If you want, we can meet up after you've given the edits a look and talk them over. Maybe... dinner?"

He'd started to stand up, as well, but paused because... was that...?

Sure enough, the pretty sod smirked. "Do you like Italian? I can get us a table at Galliano's." The smirk sobered. "But feel free to say no. I really want to keep you as a client, and I don't want anything to distract from that."

Narrowly avoiding the urge to gape, he snorted incredulously. "Are you taking the piss? Fancy dinner with my favorite author who turned out to be gorgeous as fuck?"

Oh, shit, now the wanker grinned sunnily, and it was just as attractive as the smirk from before. "Your favorite author?"

Blushing again, he grunted and kicked at the plush carpet. "Shut up. It's a yes, yeah?"

"Good." Reaching across the desk, his gorgeous editor offered a hand to shake. "Galliano's at seven, then. We'll eat before we talk about edits."

In a weirdly delighted fog, he shook hands, nodded, and left the office with the stupidest grin on his face. The ride down on the lift felt like descending on a cloud, and he exited the huge multi-office building into the near-noon sunshine feeling like he'd just stepped out of a dream.

His new editor was tough but fair. His new editor believed in him and wanted to help him be a better writer.

And his new editor was fucking hot as hell and had asked him to dinner.

Life... was a fucking dream.

Eschewing a taxi when he felt too goddamn great to sit passively while the world passed him by, Chuck Hansen walked home toward the dreaded edits with a huge, ridiculous smile. He couldn't wait to get started.

**THE END**


	28. When All Else Fails - Chuck/Raleigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck does not like being ignored. Raleigh is the KING of ignoring, thanks to years of curbing his reckless nature after Knifehead. Rock and hard place thus tend to meet in bloodshed.
> 
> Until Chuck finally has a new idea.
> 
> Inspired by [this lovely fanart on tumblr and estei's always on-point commentary.](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/167888776117/estei-feist-it-takes-chuck-a-while-to-figure-out)

He can't help instigating the bloke. It infuriates him to be ignored, and Becket is the fucking king of ignoring what he doesn't want to see or deal with.

So. Instigating.

But the bloke is also fucking savage when finally enraged, and neither of them ever gets out without blood on their knuckles. And Chuck hates the looks he gets from both Herc and from Mori, but he hates even worse that Becket gets the same disappointed looks and immediately looks like a puppy that got kicked.

He fucking hates that look worst of all. And it's not even directed at him.

Unfortunately, the weary look of exhausted dismay the bloke gives him the next time he grabs the wanker by the sleeve and yanks him around to berate him for ignoring him yet again is somehow... worse. Without the rotten sod even saying a word, that look says, "I'm _tired,_  Chuck." It says, "I don't want to do this anymore, Chuck."

It says, "Please, just leave me alone, Chuck."

But... he doesn't want to leave the bloke alone. He just wants the has-been to look at him once in a while. To  _see_ him. To realize that he's not all sarcasm and clenched fists.

Or... at least... that he doesn't want to be.

He doesn't know what possesses him, but instead of punching the slumpy, sad bastard, he pulls him in close, instead. Leans their foreheads together, as he's seen Becket and Mori do any number of times.

Sighs and kisses him, though that's  _not_ something he's seen them do.

To his surprise, Becket doesn't protest. He doesn't exactly join in enthusiastically, but he doesn't shove him away and go back to punching, either. If anything, the bloke seems... confused? Curious?

But Chuck is incapable of not turning something into a competition, and the wanker's refusal to up the ante, as it were, pushes him to... push. To get more aggressive.

Then, Becket pulls away, scowling and ready to fight.

Shit. Not what he meant. Frustrated -- with himself rather than with Becket -- he puts his hands up and backs off.

Confused all over again, Becket steps back in. It's just a step, but even an emotional reject like Chuck knows it's an olive branch. An offer, perhaps.

So he steps back in, as well. Just a single step.

Another from each of them.

Another, and they're as close as they were before without a single aggressive move between them.

This time, it's Becket who leans their foreheads together. This time, he actually speaks.

"I'm tired, Chuck," he says. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Tense, Chuck waits for the last thing, for "Please, leave me alone", but... it doesn’t come. Instead, the bloke tilts his head enough to nudge their noses together.

Feeling his way along, unsure how the steps of any dance that's not a fight go, he decides to just... follow. He tilts his head, too.

Oh. Just enough for another kiss.

It lasts long enough that Chuck doesn't want it to stop. Maybe if he follows instead of instigating, it won't.

Wonder of wonders... it doesn't.

Even when they stop kissing to just look at each other, Becket doesn't pull away. Doesn't put up his fists.

The bloke just smiles softly. "I’m okay with this," that smile says. "We can do this some more," it says.

"I don't hate you when you're not an asshole," it says.

But Becket doesn't say a word out loud. Just leans in until their noses touch and waits for Chuck to follow along.

He does. Of course he does.

After that, there are no more bleeding knuckles.


	29. The Wheels on the Bus - Raleigh/Chuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raleigh was just taking a bus ride. Not his fault Chuck Hansen was on the same bus.
> 
> From [this list of AUs on tumblr.](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/171599806982/textsfromtitanfood-consider-the-following-aus)

It was hard to ignore an ass that perfect, but Raleigh was doing his best. If nothing else, Yancy would give him hell if he were here, and since Raleigh never knew when his diabolical brother might show up, he tried to be on his best behavior all the time.

But seriously.  _Very_  nice ass.

Worse, it was hard to miss, considering the ride was rough and the bus was crowded, so it was practically wagging in his face. The body it was attached to wasn’t bad, either -- tall and broad and strong, if maybe a little young. Raleigh always had a thing for red-heads and freckles, and this guy had both. And a seriously nice ass.

And then it happened. A pregnant lady, one arm around her belly and one hand in the small of her back, tried to make her way from the bathroom at the rear of the bus back to her seat at the front, and there was just enough of a turn in the road combined with a jounce, and just as Raleigh started to stand and steady her, the red-head with the nice ass did the same, letting go of his grip on the pole.

The pregnant lady, thankfully, kept her feet just fine.

The ginger, unfortunately, did not. His assistance left him untethered for the next jounce, and he stumbled, tripped over Raleigh's feet, and...

Seriously nice ass. In his lap. With a bounce as they both thumped back down into Raleigh's seat.

Worse, he automatically wrapped his arms around the big guy to keep him from falling further and ending up on the floor, which left him practically snuggling the handsome stranger in his lap who, of course, immediately started struggling.

Nice ass squirming against his junk. So not helping.

"Oi, get the fuck off me, ya wanker!"

Oh, shit. That was an Australian accent, and even furious and embarrassed, the hot guy with the nice ass just became that much more attractive.

Blushing, Raleigh immediately let go and held his hands up to show he didn't mean anything by it. "Sorry, man. Just trying to help."

"Yeah, well...." The guy stopped himself from sputtering, though his fair skin was an almost painful shade of red. "Thanks. I reckon."

Huh. Talk about a turn-about. Surprised, Raleigh raised his eyebrows. "You're welcome?"

Muttering, the pretty stranger went back to gripping the pole, back to him -- which did not help, now that he knew how that spectacular ass felt squirming in his lap. They were silent for a moment, the pregnant lady safely ensconced back in her seat, and Raleigh tried to forget how good the stranger had smelled up close.

Then, his mouth went off. Yancy would tease him forever.

"It was nice of you to try to help that lady."

The guy cleared his throat and shot him a narrow-eyed look, apparently ready to take offense. "Not such an asshole I'd let some poor woman fall down in this lot. She'd never get back up."

His eyebrows rose again. "I don't think you'e an asshole at all. It really was nice of you."

Another narrow-eyed look. Jesus, this guy was suspicious. "Yeah, well... you don't know me, mate."

"Raleigh."

"Eh?"

He smiled. He couldn't help it. This guy was prickly and suspicious and apparently thought himself a giant asshole, but Raleigh liked him. Hell, he half wished Yancy was here, just to see how the kid reacted to his sometimes over-protective and usually smart-assed brother.

"My name. Raleigh. And you are?"

Again with the narrow eyes, though the guy actually turned around and looked at him full-on instead of waving that beautiful ass at him. "What's your game, Ray?"

"It’s Raleigh."

"So you said. So?"

He blinked, unsure what to do in the face of such intense suspicion. He'd always considered himself a pretty open guy, basically a good one, a little prone to throwing the first punch but only when it was necessary. Why was this pretty Australian hothead so suspicious of him?

"No game. Just... do you not do smalltalk in Australia? I mean, if you just wanna be quiet on the bus, I get it and will shut right up, but...?"

He endured another long moment of narrow-eyed scrutiny. Then, finally, the guy's red seemed to edge down.

"Chuck."

He couldn't help it. He smiled hugely and offered his hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Chuck."

Lo and behold, the cranky, suspicious jerk actually grinned a little as he offered his hand, revealing Raleigh's ultimate kryptonite: a dimple. Jesus, this kid would be the death of him.

"You might regret that, Ray."

His grin widened and he gave a solid two pumps and let go. "Looking forward to it."

The dimple deepened as the kid, Chuck, shook his head. "Wanker."

Suddenly, the rest of the bus ride didn't seem like such a bummer.


End file.
